


The Wrong Sort

by white_carnations



Series: The Wrong Sort [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Canon Rewrite, Developing Friendships, Family Dynamics, Friendship, Gen, Hufflepuff Ron Weasley, Minor Original Character(s), Minor Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Ravenclaw Draco Malfoy, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin Raise Harry Potter, Slytherin Harry Potter, drarry is endgame but they're 11 so not in this one lads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 48,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22067434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/white_carnations/pseuds/white_carnations
Summary: When Professor Mcgonagall says Harry’s name whispers break out across the whole of the Great Hall. His name coming out like the hiss of a boiling kettle as it rolls off the tongues of hundreds of students, an almost tangible tension bubbling up along the four tables. It's awful, he’s half tempted to run for it, to never get sorted at all.But then Ron gives him a shove and he’s walking, one foot in front of the other, on shaky legs towards the hat stool. The hat is placed on his head and he's plunged into darkness.***Having been raised by his parents best friends, Harry knows he's a wizard, but throughout his childhood he's had one consistent rule - he's not allowed into the wizarding world until his eleventh birthday. Now it's finally time for him to go to Hogwarts and despite how excited he is for everything else, he's dreading getting sorted. Unfortunately for Harry and some other kids in his year, the Sorting Hat has decided it's fed up of listening to what eleven year olds think is best for them...
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin & Harry Potter
Series: The Wrong Sort [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1588315
Comments: 119
Kudos: 439





	1. The Godfather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New year, new fic lmao... I've been writing this AU since October, PS is all done and dusted apart from some editing, so the plan is to post one chapter a fortnight, might increase it to once a week depending on how long it takes me to finish writing CoS. Also, I guess it's not really a warning but idk what else to call it but as much as I've tried to not rewrite anything from canon that's the same at points I've had to for the sake of the flow of the story. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it anyway, because i loved writing it!! 
> 
> The art at the start of this chapter is my own and you can find more on my [art blog](https://white-carnati0ns.tumblr.com/)  
> 
> 
> Thank you to my best friend/beta/soundboard/at times co-writer [river](https://archiveofourown.org/users/esutohaimu) for being wonderful as always I'm lov u l0ser

Black smoke sputters out of the bike’s exhaust as Sirius Black parks on the dark, empty road. In the silence of the night, all he hears is his own pulse. Loud and clear alongside his ragged breathing.

The hole blown through the upper floor speaks for itself — it’s Harry’s room, Sirius notes, stomach twisting.

This is all _his_ fucking fault, if he’d just have-

He shakes his head. No time.

Rushing over to the Potter's cottage, he throws the door open, eyes frantically flicking from side to side, searching for any sign of his friends. Heart pounding hard in his chest, he deems the ground floor uninhabited and takes the stairs two at a time.

At the sight of his best friends body, lying motionless on the floor Sirius freezes. 

He’s thinking about everything and nothing all at the same time. His hands— shaking uncontrollably— are the only part of him that will move. 

It’s at this point that Sirius Black decides he’s going to kill Peter Pettigrew. 

He’s more than prepared to do it, to go through with killing a man he’s considered to be one of his closest friends up until a few hours ago, without remorse. He won’t use the killing curse, that would be way too merciful. Peter Pettigrew doesn’t deserve mercy.

Then, he hears crying. 

He doesn’t dare to hope, hastily stepping over James’ body with his eyes closed tight, unable to breathe with his ribs feeling like individual snakes constricting his lungs. Entering the room at the end of the hallway, the first thing he notices is the large hole blown in the roof which he’d seen from outside. Then he looks around the room, barely processing Lily’s body, having already become numb at the sight of James’ and instead being instantly drawn to the only living thing in the room. 

Harry is stood in his crib, crying. If it’s possible, Sirius’ heart breaks even more at the sight but, at the same time, he’s filled with immense relief. 

His godson is okay. He has no idea how, but he is, and Sirius leans over the crib, cupping Harry’s chubby cheeks in his hands and wiping away the tears with the pads of his thumbs. A silence settles around them as Harry’s cries turn to hiccups once he recognises Sirius. Wide green eyes blink up at him and Sirius pushes the wild mop of black hair from his forehead. 

Cocking his head and furrowing his brows, Sirius traces the fresh pink scar that runs from Harry’s hairline to just above his right eye. It’s spiky and jagged and it makes Sirius think of thunderstorms during full moons. Nights spent with Remus.

A smile full of sadness plays on his lips as he lifts Harry out of his crib, holding him tightly in his still shaking hands - he’d survived an encounter with Voldemort when his parents hadn’t, there would be time to worry about oddly shaped scars that hadn’t been there before at a later date.

Sirius finally leaves the house with baby Harry held tightly against his chest, as the cold air hits him so does reality and a sob wracks his whole body. When a much louder sob rings out in return, he looks around in shock, eyes quickly falling upon the figure of the half giant, impossible to miss even in the dim light of the street lamps. 

Hagrid towers above him, but Sirius finds it difficult to feel intimidated, if not because of how well he knows the man but because of how he’s currently taking out a handkerchief to blow his nose, still continuing to sob.

“Is it really true?” He chokes out as he approaches Sirius. “Lily and James, t-they’re gone?” 

It takes him a second to react but Sirius nods, a sharp jerk of his chin, causing Hagrid to let out a sob louder than any previous. A light flickers on somewhere down the street and Sirius is reminded very suddenly that Godric's Hollow is home to wizards, witches _and_ Muggles. So, for once in his life, Sirius Black does something out of common sense. Wand gripped in his right hand, he mutters _muffliato_ under his breath as well as casting a disillusionment charm on the both of them. He doesn’t feel like potentially gaining an audience for whatever conversation is about to ensue. 

“Why are you here, Hagrid?” Sirius asks as Hagrid approaches him. 

“Professor Dumbledore sen’ me, I’ve been given the job of collectin’ Harry.”

“What the fuck does Dumbledore want with him?” 

“To take ‘im to a safe place, o’course.” Hagrid says as if it’s obvious.

“He’s perfectly safe with me.” Hagrid’s only doing what he was told to and usually Sirius would feel bad for shouting at him, but right now all he cares about is taking Harry somewhere safer than the middle of the street. 

His old headmaster may be - debatably - the greatest wizard alive, but that doesn’t mean Sirius trusts him with _anything_ , let alone his godson. 

“But Dumbledore told me-”

“I don’t give a damn what Albus told you!” Sirius interrupts, not particularly caring what Dumbledore thinks. “Where does he want to take him?” 

Hagrid looks around warily, but he then seems to remember Sirius cast the muffling charm around them. Even if anyone was watching from the shadows they wouldn't be able to make out what he was saying. 

“I’m sorry I can’ tell ya more, I really am, but ya see Dumbledore didn’ tell me much himself. All I know is tha’ I’m to take young Harry here to this place in Surrey for tomorrow night.”

Sirius narrows his eyes at the half giant in front of him, instantly wracking his brain for any piece of information related to Surrey that could tell him exactly why Dumbledore wanted Hagrid to take Harry there.

_Wait._

_Didn’t Lily mention her sister lived in Surrey?_

“No.” He spits, voice full of venom. 

“No?” Hagrid echo’s, sounding more confused than anything. 

“They can’t have him, he’s rightfully _mine,”_ the tone in his voice is threatening and he makes sure he’s holding Harry securely on his left hip before raising the wand already gripped tightly in his right hand. “I’m sorry Hagrid, but if you try to stop _me_ I _will_ stop you.”

Despite the tears continuing to fall from Hagrid’s beetle black eyes Sirius can’t find it within him to feel guilty. Harry is his only priority right now, he couldn’t save James and Lily but he can save Harry. 

Remus will help, _of course_ Remus will help. 

He’ll tell Sirius that he’s stupid for deciding he can trust him without question but he’ll do it with the same fondness he always does when Sirius does something stupid. Remus is all he’s got left, really, and he can’t bare to entertain the possibility that he could be just as traitorous as Wormtail.

They couldn’t trust Peter, he knows that now, hindsight being the wonderful thing that it is. There’d always been something off about him, but he’d pushed it to the back of his mind, told Lily and James to choose Peter as their secret keeper over him, because he thought it’d be for the best _._

None of this matters right now though; the most important thing is getting Harry safe. 

Still facing Hagrid, he takes careful steps backwards towards his bike, wand still raised and more than willing to cast a stunning spell if he needs to. He’s almost certain a stunning spell wouldn’t work on the half giant but he’s sure he could think of _something_ that would work. 

Placing Harry in the side car, he casts a protego over the open section, making sure there’s no way he can fall out during the journey back. When Sirius looks up from securing the baby, Hagrid is gone. He knows this won’t be the end of it, if Dumbledore has a plan for Harry then god knows the man’s going to do his best to follow through with it, but for now he’s got Harry and he’d like to try and see Dumbledore take him from him. 

***

Sirius isn’t sure how long he’s been staring at the same stain on his kitchen tiles, it might’ve been minutes or it very well may have been hours, but what he does know is that a crack sounds through the house and his view is very suddenly obscured by violently purple robes. 

Grip tightening on the wand he hasn’t put down since he’d gotten back the previous night, he looks up to see both a witch and a wizard standing just a few metres from him. 

“Minerva,” Sirius greets the witch first, a signature grin being forced onto his lips in a desperate attempt to act as if this isn’t any different to any other time he’d seen his old professors. 

Instead of replying, Mcgonagall gives Sirius a curt nod, the look in her eyes something akin to pity as she takes in his dishevelled appearance. 

He doesn’t like the look one bit and quickly turns to Dumbledore instead, who can always be trusted to look much happier than the situation calls for. 

Dumbledore however, looks rather sad.

“Albus,” he says, trying to sound like his usual, enthusiastic self but falling short as his voice sounds dull and lifeless even to his own ears. “May I ask what brings you to my humble abode and how exactly you got past the wards Remus put up last night?”

“Oh, I think we’re both aware of the reason for my visit, Sirius,” Dumbledore replies politely as he takes a seat at the small dining table, “and as for the wards, well they’re simply ineffective if one already knows where the place is.” 

“You’re not taking him away,” Sirius had intended to sound stern but his statement comes out as more of a desperate plea than anything. 

“You must understand, it’s for the best,” Dumbledore says, the authority in his voice is clear but Sirius refuses to back down.

“You can’t expect me to let you give him away t-to those absolute monsters! Lily and James are dead are you’re going to disrespect them like this?” 

“I have to agree with Mr. Black. They’re the worst kind of Muggles, Albus,” Mcgonagall adds defiantly.

“Yes, yes, as you’ve told me, Minerva.” Dumbledore waves his hand at her dismissively.

Mcgonagall throws him a defiant look at the dismissal but he ignores her, all attention now focused on Sirius.

“You can’t have him,” Sirius says as if repeating his point will actually made Dumbledore listen to him. 

Although, much to his surprise, Dumbledore gives him a reproachful look. This only aids in irritating Sirius further.

"Do you think you could raise and love Harry as if he was your own family?" he asks curiously and Sirius' thin temper is already at its end, his old headmaster’s ridiculous questions too much for his current mental state. 

"What sort of question is that? The Potter's _are_ my family!" Sirius shouts, his eyes wild and a great contrast to Dumbledore, who still remains the epitome of calm.

Before either of them can say any more, a measured voices slices through the tension in the room. "I do find it rather odd for someone who doesn't believe in Pureblood ideologies to be putting so much emphasis on blood relatives." 

Everyone turns to look at the new participant in the conversation. In the doorway to the living room stands Remus Lupin, looking even worse for wear than Sirius, Harry held securely in his arms.

"Your unnecessary shouting woke him up, Padfoot. Not that I'm surprised, you've never been able to handle things diplomatically,” Remus says, giving Sirius a pointed but affectionate look. 

"I'm sure if Harry knew why I was shouting he'd understand, Albus here wants to give him to the Dursleys." Sirius crosses his arms defiantly. 

"I do wish you wouldn't call me Albus." 

"It's your first name, you seem insistent on referring to everyone else by theirs, it's only fair."

"If we could get back to the issue at hand, gentleman," Mcgonagall interrupts impatiently. 

“Of course,” Remus replies, handing Harry over to Sirius before taking a seat opposite Dumbledore on the small round table.

“Remus,” Dumbledore greets, the politeness he’s held up through the whole conversation so far showing no hint of wavering. 

“Headmaster Dumbledore,” Sirius rolls his eyes at Remus’ use of one of Dumbledore’s many titles. “You can’t possibly think the Dursleys are the best option for Harry."

“If the extent of my knowledge matched yours I would rather agree with you, however as it happens I am aware of something you both are not.” 

“And would you care to enlighten us then?” Sirius snaps as Remus continues to regard Dumbledore with a guarded expression.

“I’m assuming you’ve both heard of Voldemort's defeat and the rumours circulating as to why and how this happened?” Dumbledore asks.

They both nod. 

“Have either of you actually figured out how Harry managed to survive the killing curse?” 

“No,” Remus says quietly whilst Sirius narrows his eyes at the old wizard.

It may not show in his speech, but the effect of yesterday's events show in his face, the way he holds himself, the sadness in his eyes and the way he holds himself isn’t new but it’s amplified tenfold. Sirius thinks he should reach out to touch him, but instead it’s Remus who puts a hand on his shoulder. He hates himself for it but he can’t do anything about it, not right now. 

Despite their different verbal approaches Remus and Sirius’ gazes are similar in levels of animosity as they wait for an explanation. As Dumbledore looks between the two young men something in his expression softens and before continuing he pulls a handful of sherbet lemons from his pocket, unwrapping one and placing it in his mouth before offering one to the two men opposite him. Remus declines politely but Sirius’ eye twitches as he turns away and presses his lips together in an attempt not to say anything.

As Dumbledore continues to observe the reactions of the men in front of him the signature twinkle in his eyes that had been absent since his arrival seems to reignite and he smiles as if to himself. 

“Actually,” he begins and Sirius goes back to glaring at him. “Don’t worry, I seem to have misjudged the situation. I think the two of you will be perfectly adequate to raise Harry.”

Sirius snorts. “As if you actually had a say in the first place.” 

Remus gives him a warning look a Sirius huffs.

“Are we done here? Because I’d quite like to go back to bed.” 

No one comments on the fact he clearly hadn’t been in bed in the first place. 

“Not just yet, I have a few conditions that go along with allowing you to raise Harry.”

“ _Allowing?”_ Sirius cries, once again disturbing Harry who had fallen asleep again some time between when Remus had handed him over to now. “Last time I checked _I’m_ his legal guardian, who said you were allowed a say in the matter?” 

Rising from his chair, Remus uses himself to obscure Sirius’ view of the other people in the room. He places one hand on his chest and uses the other to make him look at him. 

“I think we should listen to him, he wouldn’t ask if he didn’t think it was important,” Remus whispers, only creating the illusion of a private conversation as the room is so quiet you’d be able to hear a pin drop. 

The anger doesn’t leave Sirius’ gaze but the fight does and he gives a sharp nod of reluctant agreement, making a conscious effort to even out his breathing. Remus sits down once again and Sirius pulls out another chair to join the other two men at the now crowded table. Professor Mcgonagall remains standing, overseeing the conversation with her cat like gaze, seemingly satisfied that The Boy Who Lived is no longer going to live with Muggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a kudos/comment, it means a lot! If i'm honest I'm super excited about this, the idea of rewriting absolutely everything is a bit extra but extra's my middle name and i'm committed to it now lmao. I get that the nature of this means it's gonna be one hell of a slow burn but I promise we'll get to the romance eventually, I just didn't want it to just be about the romance and given the fact jkr is literally The Worst this is basically my new canon in my head now. I hope some of you out there can enjoy it as much as I am!! (also ik this is kind of a short chapter but it's more of an establishing thing they get longer promise)  
> [tumblr](https://c0ffee-gremlin.tumblr.com/)  
> 


	2. The Two-Way Mirror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here begins my excessive use of pop culture reference's and integrating 80/90s tech into the HP universe because fuck JKR,,,, also I'm obsessed with integrating music into stories so... Oh, and ik it's a day early but I'm goin away for the rest of the week tomorrow so thought posting a day earlier wouldn't hurt. Also, if anyone's interested here's my [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0c4v7RNYgtopaWq42Ucf52?si=qbqjv5HfSsOpjX9Cd4FEew) for the entire AU, a fair few of the songs are on there for the vibes, however some do relate to the story but won't make sense until a lot later lmao.  
> Finally, as usual thank you to my best friend/beta reader [river](https://archiveofourown.org/users/esutohaimu)

As he’s done every year on July thirtieth since he’s been able to tell the time, Harry lies in bed and waits for midnight. The digital alarm clock beside his bed has just changed to read eleven fifty-nine, which means in just under a minute he’ll officially be eleven years of age. To a lot of people eleven probably isn’t a particularly significant age, but for Harry it means a lot more, it’s a day he’s been waiting for since he could understand the concept of age. 

Harry’s known he’s a wizard for as long as he can remember; Sirius and Remus never made an effort to actually hide it from him. They use magic in the house and Harry’s allowed to use magic too, as long as it doesn’t require a wand - he isn’t allowed one of those yet. So for the most part, the only magic he’s performed has been accidental. 

In Harry’s case this more often than not occurs due to frustration, leading to quite a few tricky situations at school that no one could really explain. Fortunately, for the most part the incidents couldn’t be traced back to him but there was that one time he somehow ended up on the roof of one of the school buildings. That had taken a lot of explaining and eventually lead to Remus giving up and erasing the memory of anyone who had witnessed it.

Despite knowing that magic exists and that he is in fact, a wizard, there is one rule in the house that’s not to be broken under any circumstances: Harry is not to enter any part of the wizarding world until his eleventh birthday. 

Of course he’s always been eager to go to places _specifically_ for wizards, but not being able to was just something he got used to. All up until a couple of weeks ago when a letter had arrived in the post specifically addressed to him in bright emerald green ink. 

Both Remus and Sirius had told him countless stories about Hogwarts but actually receiving his acceptance letter was entirely different. It made it all feel that much more real, the ultimate confirmation he could get until September 1st rolled around.

He’s been spending so much time daydreaming about Hogwarts that it’s been difficult to concentrate on much else. If he were still at school he’s sure his inability to concentrate would be a problem, but as it is it’s Summer, meaning he can daydream all he wants.

Now it’s finally the day and Harry couldn't be more excited. 

Well, the clock in front of him may now read that it’s the 31st of July but he knows for a fact that both Sirius and Remus are very much asleep. So he does what he does every year and very, very quietly whispers Happy Birthday to himself before wrapping the covers tighter around him and closing his eyes. 

***

When Harry wakes up, it's to a weight on top of him and something cold nudging insistently against his cheek. He opens his eyes with a start and comes face to face with an all too familiar large black dog. 

"Get off me, Padfoot! I'm awake, I'm awake!" Harry laughs and the dog seems to be smiling at him, but doesn't move, instead placing his head down on Harry's chest. 

Harry resorts to trying to push the great weight off of him and Padfoot obliges, sliding off the bed reluctantly. 

Reaching for his glasses on his bedside table, Harry puts them on and when he looks up again the dog is replaced with his godfather. 

“Rise and shine birthday boy!” he announces and Harry grins at him before looking around to see Remus stood in the doorway, smiling affectionately at the two of them.

“Happy birthday Harry,” Remus says softly, “I did tell him to let you sleep, but if it’s possible I think he might be nearly as excited as you are.” 

Clambering out of bed, Harry first hugs Sirius - who hoists him into the air and spins him around enthusiastically - before dizzily padding over to Remus, who hugs Harry tightly before letting go and ruffling his hair. 

He then follows the two of them down the many steps to the ground floor, in his eagerness almost tripping on the stairs. Before he can fall Sirius grabs a hold of him mid-step, hauling him up so that he’s sat on his shoulders.

“Now, now. We don’t want your first experience of the wizarding world to be St Mungo’s.”

Remus rolls his eyes, sighing, but Harry can see he’s trying to hide a smile.

“Do I get my presents yet?” he asks.

“Nope, breakfast first, presents later,” Sirius informs him and Harry can’t be too upset because even from the third floor the entangled smell of sweet and savory makes his mouth water. 

Scent is combined with sight when they finally reach the ground floor and Sirius has to duck as to not bash Harry’s head on the kitchen door frame he finds the majority of the long dining table filled with a variety of food. 

Most of it is normal breakfast food - bacon, eggs, sausages toast and crumpets are all piled onto individual plates, but the thing Harry’s most drawn to is the very large treacle tart sitting in the middle of the table on an intricately detailed cake stand.

After Harry's eaten as much as he possibly can - which is a surprising amount considering his small frame - he's finally allowed to go into the drawing room on the first floor. 

He pushes the door open and there's a small pile of presents and a single red envelope on the table in the centre of the room. 

Sitting on his knees in front of the table, he picks up the envelope, Remus’ rule of ‘ _cards first’_ running through his head, drilled into him after multiple years of birthdays. 

He rips it open but before he can take the card out himself, it jumps out his hand, folding itself into a paper cake with exactly eleven candles, Harry grins as it plays the tune of Happy Birthday and Remus and Sirius sing along. They’re very out of tune but Harry doesn’t mind.

Once the song finishes playing, the paper cake unfolds into a card again, leaving no creases and allowing Harry to appreciate the very Muggle picture of a dog in a birthday hat on the front. Now it allows him to he opens it, revealing a mix of Remus’ scruffy writing and Sirius’ oddly neat cursive. It doesn’t say anything different to usual, but Harry still loves it nonetheless, the way they’d signed it Padfoot and Moony making a warmth bubble up inside him.

He looks to the pile of presents, then at Remus, who gives him a nod to continue. Even before he unwraps it he knows what it is. 

Along with his at this point extensive record collection, Sirius also has a pretty decent collection of cassette tapes for use in his Walkman. Sirius takes said Walkman everywhere with him and when Harry was old enough to ask he’d told him about how it had been a birthday gift from his mother in the year 1980, the same year he was born. He’d told him about how they used to sit and listen to music together on her cassette player - it’d been his gateway into the world of Muggle music and he’d _loved_ it instantly, hence why she’d ended up gifting him one of his own. His father had liked music too, sure, but not the same way Sirius did and it’s something he and his mother had shared together.

Not long after he’d asked about it, Sirius brought him one of his own. He was seven at the time and ever since it’s been a tradition between the two of them to make mix-tapes for each other on their birthdays. So when he does tear the paper of the small, rectangular present he’s not surprised to see a cassette tape. However, he is surprised to find that it isn’t new, it’s one he’s seen countless times over the years; Sirius listens to it more than any of the others in his collection. It isn’t a mixtape Sirius made himself, neither is it one purchased straight from a store; it’s the mixtape his mother had given Sirius at the same time she’d given him the Walkman, just under a year before she’d died. 

Opening the plastic case, he runs a finger along the black, faintly textured plastic and then onto the glossy label, cringing at the texture against his skin as it catches on the gloss. _PADFOOT’S MIX_ written across it, the permanent marker used has faded over the years but somehow it's still visible. 

Unexpectedly, he feels his eyes begin to get wet, blinking fiercely to try and get rid of the tears as he looks up at the people who raised him. 

"I wanted you to have it," Sirius says quietly and Harry just nods before closing the case again and actually reading the songs written on the paper insert:

A 

_The Boys Are Back In Town_ \- Thin Lizzy 

_Black Dog_ \- Led Zeppelin

 _Bad Moon Rising_ \- Creedence Clearwater Revival

 _My Generation_ \- The Who

 _Born To Be Wild_ \- Steppenwolf

 _Dog Eat Dog_ \- AC/DC

 _Paint It, Black_ \- The Rolling Stones

B

 _London Calling_ \- The Clash

 _Anarchy In The UK_ \- The Sex Pistols

 _The Times They Are-a Changin’_ \- Bob Dylan

 _Stuck In The Middle With You_ \- Stealers Wheel

 _Rock & Roll _\- The Velvet Underground

 _Bennie And The Jets_ \- Elton John

 _With A Little Help From My Friends_ \- The Beatles 

He laughs, a choked sort of noise given the fact he's currently doing his best _not_ to cry, "I thought you didn't like the Beatles."

Sirius laughs too, "I don't, that's exactly why she put that on there."

Placing the cassette onto table, he opens a few more presents - some of his favourite sweets, both Muggle and magical; a few more cassettes of actual albums, most of which he’d pointed out to them both when they went into the city the other week. Then there’s only one left, it’s larger than the rest but also very thin, when he picks it up it’s weighty in his hands and he looks at it quizzically. When he tears the wrapping paper off like he’d done with his other presents he sees his own face blinking back up at him. 

Looking first to Sirius then to Remus in confusion, he becomes even more perplexed when Sirius gets up and walks over to one of the cabinets. Harry watches as he opens a cupboard and pulls something out that looks almost exactly like what he’s holding in his hand and comes to sit back down.

“A mirror?” Harry asks quizzically, trying not to sound ungrateful, but neither of the men in front of him seem offended by his reaction. 

“It’s a two-way mirror, we’ve got the other one of the pair,” Sirius explains, holding up the mirror in his own hands in means of an example. “It’s so we can still talk whilst you’re at Hogwarts, just say either of our name’s into it; you'll appear in our mirror and we’ll be able to talk in yours."

Despite his excitement about his magical education, Harry can’t say he hasn’t been worried about being away from Remus and Sirius for such a long time and a broad smile overtakes his face as he’s filled with relief.

“Sirius Black,” he says to the mirror eagerly and when Sirius’ face appears in the mirror he looks excitedly between mirror-Sirius and the real Sirius sat in front of him. 

“Do you like it?” Remus asks.

“It’s amazing,” Harry exclaims, now staring fixedly at the mirror in awe.

In appearance it’s a simple mirror - there’s nothing particularly intricate or detailed about it. It’s rectangular in shape, with a thin strip of metal around the edge.

"James and I used to use them when we were in separate detentions,” Sirius adds, something sad in his voice even though he’s smiling.

“Didn’t you use them?” Harry asks Remus.

“ _I_ didn’t get detentions, so I didn’t need to,” Remus says and Sirius laughs.

“Don’t make it sound like you were a saint Moony, it was only because you were more careful than the rest of us,” he laughs.

The conversation devolves into one of Harry's favourite topics - the antics the Marauders got up to during their Hogwarts years. 

Harry is deciding whether to risk trying a Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean when there’s an abnormally loud knock at the door. 

“That’ll be Hagrid,” Remus announces, getting up from the sofa.

Attention immediately drawn away from the speckled green bean he’d been inspecting suspiciously, Harry hurries to get up, following Remus down the stairs to the ground floor.

“I’ll get it!” he says as he rushes past Remus, who just sighs fondly as he does often. 

“You’ll need the key, it’s not unlocked,” he calls to Harry, who is already at the bottom of the stairs. 

Catching the keys Remus drops from midway up the stairs, Harry continues his sprint to the door. Having to stretch to reach, he undoes the top bolt, then the other mismatched ones down the door that he’s never completely understood a reason for since no one else can see their house unless Remus or Sirius tell them where it is.

After unlocking the door, Harry swings it open, smiling ear to ear at the half-giant at their door. Being twice the size of a regular man, and therefore roughly four of Harry made it hard to hug him, but Harry still attempted it anyway as he often did, wrapping his thin arms around one of Hagrid's legs. 

“Hey Hagrid,” he says excitedly. 

When not needed on the Hogwarts grounds, Hagrid will often come to visit. Usually, this means a lot of Harry’s summers consist of hanging out with Hagrid. Although they can’t really go out anywhere, Hagrid always manages to make it fun. Often - much to Remus’ disapproval - he’ll bring some sort of magical creature with him. One time when Harry was seven he’d brought a niffler; Harry had thought having to shake it upside down to retrieve all the Black family heirlooms it had stolen was very funny, Sirius had rather agreed and Harry thinks Remus would have too if it hadn’t partially wrecked the house in the process of stealing anything gold it could find.

If Hagrid didn’t bring any creatures with him - which became a lot more frequent as the years progressed - he’d tell him stories, ones about Hogwarts in general, about it’s past, it’s founders and their great achievements; ones about creatures too big and dangerous to ever possibly bring with him to Grimmauld Place; and stories of his parents and their time at Hogwarts that he could never seem to get out of either Remus or Sirius.

“Hullo Harry, happy birthday!” he says and reaches down with a large hand to ruffle Harry’s hair.

“Hello Hagrid,” Remus greets, “it’s nice to see you. Sirius and I weren’t sure if you’d be coming or not.”

Hagrid smiles, something you can only tell he’s doing from the movement of his beard. 

“O’ course I came, it’s young Harry’s first trip in ter the wizarding world, can’ miss that, can I?” he asks rhetorically, ducking so that he can enter the house. 

He shuts the door behind him, then begins searching in the many pockets of his coat before pulling out a slightly squashed box and handing it to Harry.

“I didn’ buy yer anythin’ yet ‘cause I thought I’d get yer somethin from Diagon Alley, tha’ means yer can have a say in what yer want,” he hands the box to Harry, who takes it eagerly, “I did bake yer something though.” 

The box in question contains a cake that has _Happy Birthday Harry_ written across it in green icing. After thanking Hagrid, the three of them make their way up the stairs, Hagrid struggling to get up the narrow staircase but somehow managing it. Back in the drawing room, Harry puts the cake with his other presents, far too full to eat it now but looking forward to trying it later. Baking is another thing Hagrid has taught him and whilst Harry’s not massively fond of the rock cakes Hagrid favours, his normal cakes are very, _very_ good. 

“Hagrid?” Harry asks, thinking about what he’d told him in the hallway. Hagrid looks at him attentively and Harry continues. “What’s Diagon Alley?” 

“Where we’re taking him was supposed to be a surprise,” Sirius scolds lightheartedly, barely able to keep a straight face as he does so. 

“Ah, I’m sorry, it jus’ slipped out,” Hagrid answers guiltily. 

“What’s Diagon Alley?” Harry repeats it louder this time and the three adults all smile at him.

“You’ll see when we get there,” Remus tells him and Harry pouts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a kudos/comment, it means a lot!  
> If you want to specifically listen to the mixtape Lily made for Sirius, you can listen to it [here.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6e4Rt9uZc8SxsvCuyNnMmz?si=v2SnhXvqRMeYMTsUdvz9RA)  
> 


	3. Diagon Alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rubs my hands together* Finally we have the first appearance of everyone's favourite pointy faced little shit, this whole series of fics is going to involve POV switches between them, but it's just a little too early for that yet I'm afraid, it is soon though, promise! I'm aware a fair bit of this chapter is going over canon stuff and there's a bit of plot convenience in there as well lmao, but I you guys still enjoy it anyway!! Also want to say a huge thank you to the people who have been commenting on the previous chapters, it honestly means so so much to me!!
> 
> Big thanks to my partner in fic related crime/beta reader [river](https://archiveofourown.org/users/esutohaimu) I lov u n3rd <3

To get to Diagon Alley they have to go through Muggle London, a place Harry is more than used to. What he isn’t used to is getting so many odd looks from random strangers, but he puts that down to Hagrid being so ridiculously tall. Remus has informed him many times that Hagrid's height is something unseen to most Muggles and that was one of the reasons they couldn’t go out into Muggle London when Hagrid came over. Harry vaguely remembers something about a  _ Statue of Secrecy _ , but Remus often says a lot of words Harry doesn’t quite get and he struggles to keep up. 

They pass many very normal, very  _ Muggle  _ shops before the three adults he’s with stop and they enter a tiny, grubby-looking pub that the sign outside declares to be the Leaky Cauldron. 

The chatter throughout the dark and shabby pub stops when they enter. From behind the bar, a man asks Hagrid and Sirius if they want their usuals, Hagrid says he can’t but Sirius seems to consider it for a second before catching Remus’ eye and withering beneath his disapproving stare.

Then the attention of the man behind the bar - Hagrid had called him Tom - falls to him and Harry is considerably uncomfortable with what occurs next.

After Tom decides to loudly announce who exactly Harry is there’s an excruciatingly loud shuffling of chairs and suddenly he’s surrounded by people wanting to meet him, to shake his hand, to tell him how happy they are he’s returned. He doesn’t know what to do or say, but fortunately he only has to shake a few peoples hands before Sirius voice breads through the noise.

“Alright, that’s quite enough, he’s a fucking kid not something for you all to worship like some sort of damn messiah,” Sirius isn’t shouting but his voice is full of purpose and easily overtakes all other noise in the small pub; the majority of the crowd turns to look at him, before awkwardly returning to their seats. 

Of course Harry knows he’s famous to some extent, Remus and Sirius hadn’t kept that from him but he wasn’t expecting people to be so excited just to  _ meet  _ him. 

Harry's thinking he's not going to have to speak to any more strangers in the pub but then Hagrid introduces him to a stuttering, anxious man at the bar, who Hagrid tells him will be his Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. 

After being introduced to Professor Quirrel, Harry follows Hagrid, Remus and Sirius to the back of the pub and into a walled courtyard, nervously casting glances back into the crowd in the pub until the door closes behind them. The four of them just about fit in the small space and Harry watches curiously as Remus taps his wand very specifically on a combination of bricks on the wall. 

"This," he says as the bricks magically part with a loud scraping sound, "is Diagon Alley."

"Woah," Harry breathes as he takes it all in - its everything he'd expected and  _ more.  _

Harry looks on in awe at the cobbled street he can now see through the huge archway created by the parting bricks. Mismatched shops - some at very odd angles - laden the street, it looks weirdly familiar and he assumes it’s because he’s seen it in one of the books in the library at home, but even still; a picture could never compare to the sight in front of him. 

They walk for a little bit, allowing Harry to  _ try  _ and take everything in, although his efforts are hopeless as there's way too much for him to even begin to process. 

Stopping outside a shop called  _ Slug and Jiggers Apothecary,  _ Remus stops, causing the rest of them to also pause. 

He turns to Harry and says, "So where do you want to go first?“

Harry pulls out his list of supplies he needs for Hogwarts from his pocket, unfolding the parchment and looking at the list of things as if he doesn't know it off by heart.

However, before Harry can give Remus his answer, Sirius leans over to Remus and whispers something in his ear and the two begin to whisper back and forth while Harry does his best to try and overhear what they’re saying. His attempts are useless due to the bustling foot traffic throughout Diagon Alley and by the time they’re done he’s only caught a few random words he can’t hope to string together.

“Sirius needs to go and do something without Harry, I feel it’s best I go with him so he doesn’t cause any trouble,” Sirius makes an offended noise in the back of his throat but doesn’t interject. “Hagrid, do you think it’d be alright if we left Harry with you for a little bit.”

“O’ course, tha’s more than quite alrigh’ with me, as long as young Harry’s alrigh’ with comin’ ter Gringotts.” he replies, looking down at Harry with a warm smile on his face. 

“If that’s the case, would you mind taking him to his vault, he could do with learning how to get into it,” Remus says. 

Digging in his pocket, he pulls out a large golden key, placing it firmly into Harry’s hands, “Make sure you don’t lose it and don’t take out anymore money than you need.”

“I won’t.” he promises and Remus gives him an affectionate smile before him and Sirius disappear into the throng of people.

As he and Hagrid approach Gringotts, Hagrid makes a point of telling Harry how mad you’d have to be to try and rob the place. Even without the warnings Harry thinks the stern, threatening faces of the countless goblins he sees as they enter the snowy white building should be enough to deter anyone. When they get to the counter Harry has to hand his key to Hagrid as he’s too short to reach, let alone even see the top of the counter himself. Hagrid then tells the goblin what he needs to do, Hagrid’s obviously trying to be quiet but he’s never been very good at it and Harry hears everything he says anyway. 

When Hagrid’s done talking to the goblin at the counter, another goblin - Griphook - leads them out of the main hall of Gringotts and down one of the many hallways. Gringotts is one of the things Harry has actually read a lot about - he’s actually read a surprising amount about a lot of things considering he doesn’t really care for reading all that much, but Harry thinks having a library full of information about a whole other world you’re  _ not allowed  _ to enter would be enough to make anybody turn to regular reading.

In a rattling cart they set off down the railway tracks that pave the rocky floors . It reminds Harry of the roller coasters from that one time his best friends parents had taken them to a theme park just last summer. Although, the rides at the theme park had countless safety measures and right now, if Harry were to lean just a little to far he’s almost certain he’d fall to his death and the goblins would blame it on him. 

Hagrid deals just about as well with the ride down to his vault as Harry remembers his friend dealing with roller coasters at the theme park - that is to say, not very well at all. As Hagrid gets out of the cart he has to lean against a wall to prevent his knees from buckling - he’s also gone rather green but Harry decides not the point it out. 

Griphook unlocks the door and when the green smoke clears it reveals piles upon piles of large gold Galleons, slightly smaller silver Sickles and little bronze Knuts. Harry had known he has money, Remus and Sirius had made sure of that. Now Harry stands, completely shocked by the sheer amount of money in front of him that he knows hasn’t been touched since before he was born. He feels rather guilty, thinking about how Remus and Sirius have had the key, and therefore access to this for so many years, yet haven’t touched it even once. However, he supposes that Sirius having access to the Black family vault was more than enough to sustain the three of them. This train of thought often lead him to the question as to why Sirius even has a job. That is, until he’d actually asked Remus, who had told him about Sirius’ inability to stay cooped up in a house. He’s not entirely sure of the specifics of Sirius’ job, all he knows is that he works for the Ministry, he does hope Sirius will be more willing to tell him about it after he’s started at Hogwarts though. 

Together, he and Hagrid pile a collection of the three types of coins into a bag, then they’re leaving Harry’s small fortune behind to go to vault seven hundred and thirteen.

When they leave Gringotts Harry is still trying his best to try and figure out what possibly could have been in the small, grubby package he’d seen Hagrid take from the high security vault. However, any thought related to the grubby package disappears from his head when his eyes adjust to the bright light of the outside world again and he sees Remus and Sirius waiting for him.

Sirius is trying to hide something behind his back but Harry can clearly make out both the bristles and the top of the handle of the broomstick he’s holding. His godfather is grinning in the way he does when he’s really proud of something he’s done and Remus’ small smile, as always, is worth a lot more than it seems to be. 

“Got your money?” Sirius asks and Harry nods enthusiastically, purposefully moving the bag that rests on his hip so that the coins inside jingle. 

“Oh, stop pretending, Sirius, he’s not an idiot,” Remus says and Sirius sighs dramatically.

“I was just asking him a question,  _ dear _ ,” he replies before pulling the broomstick out from behind his back so Harry can actually see it properly. 

It’s the same model as the one he’d stopped to stare at whilst they were walking down the cobbled street earlier, he’d been so enamoured with it that Remus had had to pull him along. Now the Nimbus Two Thousand is right in front of him, sunlight shining off it’s sleek, mahogany handle and highlighting the gold lettering on the end. Harry reaches out to take it but Sirius pulls it back once again.

“Now,” he says, and when Sirius takes on a, well,  _ serious  _ tone you know it’s important to listen, “first years aren’t allowed their own broomsticks, so you can’t take it to Hogwarts with you, but when you’re back home I do have family that lives in the country, we can visit; you’ll be able to practise flying there.”

Only when Harry nods again does Sirius hold the broomstick out once more. Harry grabs it quickly this time just incase he tries to pull it back out of his reach again. Running a finger over the neat twigs that make up the tail, he notes how they’ve have been tightly tapered at the end to make it as streamlined as possible.

Harry knows the rules of Quidditch like the back of his hand, could probably recite the entire history of it off the top of his head due to the sheer amount of times he’s read  _ Quidditch: Through the Ages,  _ but not  _ once  _ has he seen more of a Quidditch match than in moving photographs in books or articles from the Prophet. Countless times he’s heard entire matches commentated on the wireless, sitting in the drawing room with Sirius, imagining what the players look like zooming around the pitch. 

“I’m gonna slip off fer a pick-me-up at the Leaky Cauldron; I hate them Gringotts carts,” Hagrid says, causing Harry to finally look up from the broomstick.

“We’re going to take Harry to get his uniform fitted, I assume you won’t be any longer than that, we’ll meet outside when we’re both done?” Remus asks and Hagrid agrees before heading off. 

“Alight, well you can’t be carrying a broomstick around like that for the rest of the day.” Sirius says before pointing his wand at it and saying “ _ Reducio _ .”

Instantly the Nimbus Two Thousand shrinks so small that it could fit in the shoulder bag currently holding Harry’s money, and that’s exactly where he puts it - tucked away in an inside pocket just incase.

Without the broomstick to take up all his attention, he now flings his arms around Remus and Sirius as best as a small eleven year old can, repeating the phrase ‘thank you’ over and over again. They tell him not to worry about it but the three of them are still beaming at each other as they set off to get his uniform.

He guesses it’s best to get it out the way but Harry doesn’t think getting his uniform fitted sound fun or interesting at all and he’d much rather be investigating the other array of shops in Diagon Alley. 

However, he starts to think it might end up being just a  _ little  _ interesting when he the boy stood on the footstool next to him in Madam Malkins actually speaks to him.

“Hullo,” says the boy in a bored, drawling voice, “Hogwarts too?”

“Yes,” Harry replies, he glances back to where Sirius and Remus were sat at the front of the store, but it seems Sirius has mysteriously disappeared in the roughly thirty seconds Harry hadn’t been paying attention to them. 

He would be worried but Remus looks relatively relaxed, and if Remus isn’t worried that means Harry doesn’t need to be worried either.

When Harry turns his attention back to the boy he’s looking at him expectantly and it quickly dawns on Harry that he was probably talking to him and he’d completely tuned him out.

“Uh, what?” Harry says, not liking the irritated look it puts on the other boys face.

“Did your parents never teach you manners?” he asks, lip curled back in a sneer. Harry doesn’t get a chance to answer before he’s repeating his previous question. “I  _ asked  _ if you’ve got your own broom?” 

“Yes!” Harry replies happily. “I got one as a present just before coming here actually.” 

“Oh?” asks the boy, looking slightly less bored than before. “What model is it?”

“A Nimbus 2000,” Harry says proudly, not really caring if he does sound a little bit like he’s showing off.

“Impressive,” the other boy says, giving Harry an approving look. “So have you played Quidditch at all?”

“Not yet,” Harry answers honestly. 

“ _ I  _ do - Father says it’s a crime if I’m not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you’ll be in yet?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry thinks of the Gryffindor flags that are a permanent fixture in his - previously Sirius’ - room, courtesy of some very strong Permanent Sticking Charms. 

“Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I’ll be in Slytherin, all our family have been - imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I’d leave, wouldn’t you?”

“Mmm,” Harry replies, beginning to lose any interest in both the conversation and the boy.

He vaguely remembers Sirius’ cousin Tonks telling him she was in Hufflepuff. Harry thinks she’s very nice and funny and begins to wonder if the boy has a problem with nice, funny people - based on what he’s saying Harry wouldn’t be surprised if he does. 

“Is that  _ your  _ father?” Harry’s getting tired of all these questions but figures he won’t be here much longer so he may as well continue to entertain.

“Kind of,” he answers.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“My real parents are dead, Remus and my godfather raised me, so therefore  _ kind of,”  _ Harry explains, getting rather irritated at this point but not wanting to make enemies before he’s even started the school year.

“Oh sorry,” says the other, sounding a tad sheepish but not at all sorry. “But your real parents. They were  _ our  _ kind, weren’t they?” 

“They were a witch and a wizard, if that’s what you mean.”

“I really don’t think they should let the other sort in, do you? They’re just not the same, they haven’t been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What’s your surname anyway?” 

It’s at this point he decides he really doesn’t like the boy, not even one little bit and as Madam Malkin tells him he’s done, he answers his last question and purposefully runs a hand through his messy hair, knowing it will push his fringe out of his face enough to make his scar more than visible. 

He’s still laughing to himself about the way the boy’s eyes widened in surprise when they meet Hagrid and Sirius outside. Hagrid hands him a large ice cream with a wide grin, which Harry returns as he thanks him. 

He and Hagrid walk a couple of steps in front of Sirius and Remus and Harry tells him all about the pale boy in Madam Malkins. 

“Horrible lot, those blood purists, make sure you never listen ter a word they say,” Harry hadn’t planned on it but he nods along anyway, listening intently as he eats his ice cream. “S’pose you can’t blame the young'uns though, ‘tis not their fault tha’ they been brough’ up tha’ way, is it? The bes’ we can hope fer is that bein’ at Hogwarts with ol’ Professor Dumbledore as a headmaster will do ‘em some good, eh?”

They buy Harry’s school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts, which has shelves stacked with an even wider variety of peculiar books than the Black family library back at home. It makes him think of a particularly bookish girl he was friends with in primary school; she would have loved it here, he thinks to himself as Remus helps him find all the books he needs. 

Once they’ve gotten all Harry’s potion equipment and been to the apothecary's for potion ingredients, Harry unfolds his list once more. 

“The only thing I need now is a wand,” he announces happily.

“Hang on,” says Hagrid, “I still haven’t got yeh a birthday present.”

“Oh,” replies Harry, “you don’t have to-”

“Nonsense, we’ve been in most of the shops down ‘ere now, what do yer want?”

Harry tries to think about what he could possibly want, he’s not sure if it’s because of the sheer amount of things he’s seen today that he could want or because he’s perfectly happy with everything he already has but absolutely nothing springs to mind. Fourntately, Hagrid seems to notice the dumbstruck look on Harry’s face and puts forward his own idea.

“Ah, tell yeh what, I’ll get yer an animal-”

“Not a cat,” Sirius interrupts and Harry laughs at the absurdity of it, Sirius says that his animagus form hasn’t rubbed off on his personality but Harry’s not quite sure that’s true at all. 

“No, not a cat, I don’ like the ruddy things, make me sneeze. Can’t get yeh a toad either, went outta fashion years ago, they did, don’ want yeh gettin’ laughed at, do we? I’ll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they’re dead useful, carry yer post an’ everythin’.”

Before they go to get Harry’s wand, they stop at Eeylops Owl Emporium and Harry leaves carrying a large cage with holds a brilliantly white snowy owl. 

For the second time that day ‘thank you’ seems to be the only phrase that he’s able to utter, but much like Remus and Sirius, Hagrid tells him not to mention it. He still feels bad though, the pouch of coins by his hip is pretty much still full as Remus and Sirius barely let him pay for anything himself.

After getting his wand Harry decides he’s not quite sure he likes Mr Ollivander, it’s not like he was mean, actually he was perfectly polite, but he was particularly  _ odd  _ in a way that made Harry’s skin crawl. He wonders if maybe it’s just a wand maker thing and if they’re all just a little creepy. Ollivander’s words about Harry’s wand being the brother to Voldemorts continue to float about in his head and he’s sure he must seem as shaken as he feels because when they leave the store with his wand - holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple, he’s not quite sure how he remembers but he does - Remus grabs his hand and squeezes and Sirius places an arm around his shoulders.

“I think it’s about time we head home,” Sirius says, breaking the silence that had unintentionally fallen between the four of them. 

“I think you’re quite right,” Remus replies.

“I better be gettin’ back ter Hogwarts myself,” Hagrid adds.

None of them mention how they were intending to wander around for a bit longer after they’d finished buying all his school supplies. They set off again, back through the Leaky Cauldron - now empty - and back onto the streets of London. They say goodbye to Hagrid and Harry thanks him once again for his snowy owl before they head off in opposite directions.

“I’ll see yer in September,” Hagrid says to Harry, a kind smile hidden behind his bushy beard and eyebrows. 

“See you, Hagrid,” Harry says, not quite sure why he can’t seem to muster up any enthusiasm. 

His odd mood remains, Sirius and Remus try to ask him what's wrong but he doesn't know what to tell them when he's not even sure himself. They get home and Harry trudges upstairs, placing all his new things on his chest of drawers. 

"Remember you still can't use magic outside of Hogwarts!" Remus calls up the stairs. 

"I know!" Harry calls back, sighing as he places his new wand back in the box it came in. 

He sits alone in his room for a good half an hour at least, he'd let his owl out of her cage and she now sits perched on one of his bed posts as he runs a hand repetitively over her soft feathers. Wracking his brain for names, he ends up reaching for the book on the top of the pile on his chest of drawers and flicks through it a couple of times until he finds one he likes.

“Hedwig? Do you like that?” she ruffles her feathers slightly and Harry takes that as a yes. 

He's trying to figure out if he can enlarge his Nimbus Two Thousand himself when there's a crack and their house elf, Kreacher, appears in front of him. 

Kreacher had been here when they'd first moved into Grimmauld Place after the death of Sirius' mother six years prior. Harry, being only five at the time, doesn't remember it very well but he does remember that Kreacher was absolutely awful for a long time, completely distraught at the death of Mrs Black and clearly already having a grudge against Sirius. Sirius seeming to uphold the same grudge and was just as awful for a long time. It took more than a year for Remus to convince Sirius to actually try being nice to the Black families house elf. Although Kreacher wasn't the most pleasant personality wise, he'd seemed to grow on the three new inhabitants of the House of Black even if the niceties between him and Sirius were still forced and awkward. Harry still occasionally hears him muttering under his breath about Mudbloods and blood traitors but its a definite improvement from how bad he used to be. 

"Master Sirius is requesting the presence of Young Master in the dining room," he croaks in his bullfrog-like voice, "he said to tell you that Mistress Andromeda and the  _ Mudblood  _ will be here soon."

"Don’t call Ted that," Harry says firmly as he puts Hedwig back into her cage, much to her disgust. 

“Yes, Young Master, so sorry” Kreacher replies, bowing slightly before disapparating again.

Harry makes his way down to the drawing room for the second time that day, in the weird mood that had come over his after leaving Ollivanders he’d forgotten that Andromeda and Ted were coming over for dinner. He’s wondering how long it will be until they arrive when he hears dreadful screeching from the ground floor.

_ “Stains of dishonour, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of filth!”  _ cries the portrait of Sirius’ mother.

Now running down the stairs, Harry reaches the bottom just in time to see a mildly irritated Andromeda pointing her wand at the curtains, as they fly shut the portraits screams become angry muttering and she lets out a sigh of relief.

“Dromeda!” Harry exclaims and she turns to face him, cold expression instantly softening when her gaze lands on him, dark eyes warm and friendly when turned on him. 

“Harry,” she says sweetly, “I was just coming up to find you, has that menace I call a cousin made sure you’ve had a good birthday?”

Harry nods, forgetting about his weird mood as he animatedly begins to tell Andromeda all about his day. He’s half way through telling her about how wonderful his Nimbus Two Thousand is when places a hand on his shoulder.

“We’d better go to the dining room, the others are waiting,” she says.

When they enter the dining room both Sirius and Remus give him a questioning look, obviously worried about his earlier behaviour but when he grins at them they seem to relax a little.

“Hullo lad, happy birthday” says the mellow voice of Ted Tonks.

Turning to look at the other side of the room he sees Ted and Dora stood side by side. Ted isn’t particularly tall and his daughter is almost the same height as him. Dora waves at him, smiling brightly and Harry, used to her short, shocking pink hair has to take a second to adjust to the shoulder length blue before waving back.

They all take a seat at the overly long table, Sirius insisting Harry needs to sit at the head of the table since it’s his birthday. Kreacher appears in the room with a crack and with a few clicks of his fingers food begins appearing on the table.

Harry finishes telling Andromeda about his broomstick, then Diagon Alley,  _ then  _ Hedwig He repeats some of the other stuff for the sake of Ted and Dora in between eating as much as he possibly can, but Andromeda doesn’t seem to mind hearing it twice.

“What house do you think you’ll be in?” Dora asks.

“He’s gonna be in Gryffindor like his dad, of course,” Sirius says as if it’s obvious.

The room falls silent. Both Andromeda and Remus glare daggers at him from their seats, but Sirius looks confused, seemingly not understanding what he’s done wrong. 

Andromeda shakes her head at him exasperatedly before turning her attention to Harry, who’s begun to nervously push food around his plate, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone at the table. 

“Ignore your biased godfather,” she tells him, eyes kind and soft. 

“I have a good reason to be biased!” Sirius interjects.

“I’m more than aware of your reasoning, but surely we should be working towards teaching the next generation to reject house biases, they’ve never done anyone any good.” Andromeda says and Sirius lets out a huff before reluctantly agreeing with her. 

Everyone else in the room remains silent as Andromeda turns to Harry and when she speaks to him it’s like they’re the only two people in the room. 

“Despite what a lot of people seem to think, your house doesn’t define who you are and there’s nothing wrong with  _ not  _ being in Gryffindor. Ted was in Hufflepuff and so is Nymphadora, and I, well, you very well know I’m was a Slytherin and I’m not some evil dark wizard, am I?” 

Harry shakes his head and she smiles at him warmly. 

“Now,” she says, placing her knife and fork neatly on her empty plate, “I think it’s time for your presents, don’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a kudos/comment, it means a lot!  
> 


	4. Old Friends and New Enemies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I want to thank everyone for the wonderful response this fic has gotten so far, as far as I'm concerned it's kinda niche considering it's entirely self indulgent on my part. Second is just an update to say I finally finished editing all of this and am now making a start on the rewrite of CoS!! As I've said, depending on how quickly I progress with that the updates on this m i g h t change to once a week at some point so fingers crossed lmao. 
> 
> Lastly, I can't post a new chap without thanking my beta reader/soundboard [river](https://archiveofourown.org/users/esutohaimu) they're honestly the best and this fic probably wouldn't exist without them <3

On September 1st Harry is up ridiculously early, unable to sleep from all his excitement. Remus had made him pack his trunk yesterday to ensure there was no rushing around in the morning, so Harry was left to sit idly on his bed, already dressed, waiting for Remus and Sirius.

Once they were up, Harry had eaten his breakfast as quickly as possible. In hindsight, maybe the hiccups that resulted from his actions weren’t worth it, but he was too eager to get out of the house to care. After breakfast they’d double, then triple checked Harry had absolutely everything before loading his trunk into the boot of Remus’ brown Ford Escort. 

On the way to Kings Cross he sits in the back with Hedwig beside him, listening to Sirius complain about Remus’ car as he does every single time they have to use it. Personally, Harry quite likes the car, there’s something comforting about the steady noise of the engine and worn, cracked leather. 

Harry is familiar with Kings Cross as well as most of the large stations in central London, it would be difficult not to be after growing up there but he’s still not quite sure how he’s going to get to a magical school from a Muggle train station. As they enter the station, Sirius looks as baffled by large groups of Muggles as he usually does. Despite his love for Muggle pop-culture, Sirius never has seemed to be able to grasp how to properly blend into Muggle society the way Remus has. Remus puts it down to Sirius’ Pureblood upbringing and Harry thinks he’s probably right. 

“Is it still platform nine and three-quarters?” Remus asks Harry, who’s clutching his ticket for the Hogwarts Express tightly in his hand. 

“Yes,” Harry replies immediately, not needing to check the ticket for confirmation.

“Okay then, we just need to- Molly!” Sirius cuts himself off mid sentence, pausing in the middle of the crowded station with the trolley that has Harry’s trunk and Hedwig’s cage piled on top.

Harry follows Sirius’ gaze in time to see a plump, red headed woman turn towards them. She looks frazzled but at the sight of Sirius her eyes light up, a warm smile on her face.

“Sirius Black!” she exclaims, hands on her hips. “How long has it been now?”

“Uh, a couple years at most?” Sirius replies sheepishly.

“Arthur!” she calls, turning around once again, “bring the kids over here, it’s Sirius and Remus.”

“These are the Weasleys,” Sirius manages to mutter to Harry, “they’re the family I was telling you about, the ones that live in the West Country.”

From within the throng of people emerges a tall, thin man, who is then followed by one, two, three… Harry counts five kids all with the same fiery red hair as the people Harry assumes to be their parents.

“Sirius, Remus, good to see you both,” he greets politely, nodding towards both of them.

“Honestly,” Molly says, walking over to Sirius to hug him, pulling back and gripping his shoulders before continuing, “you work with Arthur now and I  _ still  _ don’t hear from you, what have you been up to?”

“Raising a kid takes up a lot of time, I’ve been busy,” Sirius shrugs apologetically and Harry understands the absurdity of his reply considering the five children stood behind her, currently talking amongst themselves.

She glares at him, a threatening look in her eye, before letting go of his shoulders and instead turning her attention to where Remus and Harry stand.

“Remus,” she says warmly, hugging him as well but when she pulls away all her attention is focused on Harry, “and you must be Harry.”

She hugs him too; it’s warm and welcoming and he thinks he already likes Molly Weasley.

“Harry?” comes a voice and when Molly lets him go, he sees one of the older kids has stepped forwards, “As in -?” 

“It  _ is  _ him, isn’t it?” another boy steps forwards, identical to the first. 

“Who?” says a third boy, shorter than his brothers, who looks to be around Harry’s age. 

“Harry Potter, of course,” says the first boy.

“Fred! Stop that right now!” snaps Molly.

“I’m not Fred, I’m George,” says the first. “Honestly, woman, call yourself our mother? Can’t you  _ tell  _ I’m George?”

“Sorry, George-”

“Mum, we need to go, we’re going to be late,” interrupts the fourth brother, who’s tall, gangly and looks to be the oldest of them all. 

“Oh yes, of course, Percy you go first, we’ll be through in a minute.”

Percy Weasley marches towards platforms nine and ten and Harry watches in astonishment as he just walks through it as if the barrier isn’t even there. 

“You next, George,” says Molly.

“I was only kidding, I am Fred,” he says before disappearing through the barrier just like his brother before him. 

The other twin, who Harry now presumes to be George follows him and now there’s just him, Remus and Sirius, Mr and Mrs Weasley and two of their children left. 

“It’s Ron’s first year too,” Molly says to Harry.

Harry looks at Ron who, despite being shorter than all his brothers, is still a fair bit taller than Harry, but he’s used to be relatively short so it’s not like it bothers him. 

“Hullo,” Harry says happily, holding out his hand for Ron to shake, “I’m Harry.” 

Ron gawps at him and Harry starts to panic, but then his mother nudges him and he seems to break out of whatever trance he was in. He grips Harry’s and gives it a firm shake.

“Nice to meet you, Harry,” he says.

Molly tells them to go through first and without warning Sirius grabs Harry and picks him up.

“Oi, put me down! I want to go through the barrier myself!” Harry complains as Sirius sits him on top of his trunk next to Hedwig’s cage.

“You’re clumsy, I don’t trust you not to miss it,” Sirius says and Harry sticks his tongue out at him.

Remus sighs, rolling his eyes at the two of them when Sirius sticks his tongue out at Harry too, parroting Percy as he tells them to hurry up. 

Sirius sets off towards the barrier at a run. For a frightening moment as the barrier gets closer and closer, Harry thinks he’s going to smash face first into it. Closing his eyes, he can’t help but grind his teeth together in anticipation of impact.

But it never comes and when he opens his eyes again, he’s met with the scarlet steam engine he assumes must be the Hogwarts Express. 

Remus emerges from the barrier seconds later, followed then by Ron, who pulls his trolley up beside Harrys and they walk down the platform together, trailed by Remus and Sirius.

“Mum and dad said not to wait up by the barrier,” he explains to them, “they’ll be a minute, Ginny’s causing a fuss.”

“You have a lot of siblings,” Harry observes and Ron makes a face.

“That’s not even all of them,” replies Ron gloomily before proceeding to tell him about his two brothers that have already left Hogwarts - Bill and Charlie - then one by one points out his hand-me-downs from them. 

They walk until they reach an empty compartment at the end of the train and Remus and Sirius help the two of them to load their trunks into it. After they’ve done that, the rest of the Weasleys appear once again, Mrs Weasley fusses over Ron and the twins manage to tease every one of their siblings within under five minutes. 

Saying goodbye to Remus and Sirius is bittersweet. He won’t see them in person until Christmas now, but he does have the two-way mirror packed away in his trunk, wrapped in between his clothes to make sure the glass doesn’t smash. 

Sirius cries and he pretends he isn’t even though it’s obvious whilst Remus makes him mentally check he’s got everything for the hundredth time. The tightness of Sirius’ hug gives Harry the impression he doesn’t want to let go but he does eventually, meaning him and Ron board the train just in time. Much like a lot of other children, they wave out of the windows until their parents are no more than tiny dots as small as ants.

***

As the countryside flies past the window it becomes wilder and wilder and after neat fields begin turning into woods and twisting rivers there's a knock on the door of the compartment.

A tearful boy Harry recognises from the platform enters asking if they’ve seen his toad but quickly leaves after finding out they haven't. Ron then begins complaining about his rat Scabbers, Harry listens intently to his new friend as he opens another Chocolate Frog. 

_ Another Dumbledore, dammit. _

“Do you listen to music?” Harry asks, suddenly remembering his Walkman hooked onto his jeans. 

“Sometimes,” Ron replies, swallowing his mouthful of chocolate before continuing. “Dad’s kinda obsessed with Muggle stuff, brings records home every now and then, he was showing me these shiny disc things the other week, I don’t remember what they’re called though-”

“CDs,” Harry supplies, instantly reminded of Sirius ranting about how vinyl records are clearly the superior way to listen to music. 

“Yeah those, anyway, I like some of it, much better than mum with all her  _ Celestina Warbeck,”  _ he makes a disgusted face and Harry laughs. 

“Do you wanna listen?” Harry asks, pulling his Walkman from his jeans and showing it to Ron.

“Alright,” Ron says, getting up and moving to the other side of the compartment so he’s next to Harry.

Unwrapping his earphones, he offers one to Ron, having to show him how they work since he’s apparently never seen a pair before. The cassette starts from the beginning and they make it through a few songs, still chatting about various things. Harry would have been happy to spend the rest of the journey like this, but then the compartment door slides audibly open and they both look towards it with a start.

“Has anyone seen a toad? Neville’s lost one,” says-

“Hermione?” Harry looks with wide eyes at the bushy haired girl, the toadless boy from before standing just behind her, he pauses the cassette and stands up abruptly. 

“Harry?” Hermione responds, a smile instantly breaking out on her face, buck teeth protruding slightly over her bottom lip in a way Harry’s very much used to seeing. She hugs him in her excitement and laughs into her bushy hair. 

“You told me you didn’t know anyone,” Ron says, sounding slightly put out and looking between the two of them in confusion.

“I didn’t think I did,” Harry says, pulling away from Hermione and giving his new friend an apologetic look before turning back to Hermione, “I didn’t know you were a witch.”

“Neither did I until the summer, nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a shock when Professor McGonagall showed up on our doorstep. I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard - I’ve learnt all the set books off my heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough,” she turns to Ron, who’s looking at her dumbfounded, “I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, me and Harry went to primary school together, who are you?”

She says this all very fast, but Harry doesn’t mind, he’s used to her fast pace of talking and knows it only gets faster when she’s excited or nervous. He assumes she’s probably feeling both right now. 

“I’m Ron Weasley,” Ron mumbles, but Harry gives him an encouraging grin and he seems to perk up a little.

“Have you known you’re a wizard your whole life?” Hermione asks and when Harry nods she continues. “You’re in quite a few books you know -  _ Modern Magical History  _ and  _ The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts  _ and  _ Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.” _

Harry does know this, because once Sirius had let slip that the reason for the one unbreakable rule in the house was that he was actually rather famous he’d insisted they tell him more. Sirius had closed himself off at this point, but Remus had taken him to the Library room and explained it all to him before finding the three aforementioned books and showing him which pages he was mentioned on.

“If you’ve known you’re a wizard your whole life what were you doing at a Muggle school?” Hermione then asks, looking at him curiously as if he’s some sort of puzzle she wishes to work out.

“Sirius and Remus say my mum wanted me to go.” Harry explains, fiddling with the Chocolate Frog box in his hands.

“Oh, of course.” Hermione says softly, now knowing the real reason behind the death of his parents.

He thinks he would have preferred to tell her the truth himself, but he supposes it can’t be helped.

“Do either of you know what house you’ll be in?” she asks brightly, breaking the awkward silence that’s fallen between them and the conversation devolves into yet another conversation about houses, Harry doesn’t contribute much, feeling rather sick of talking about them at this point. 

At some point Hermione leaves, citing her promise to help Neville find his toad and then it’s just Harry and Ron once more.

“Harry, what’s a primary school?” Ron asks once Hermione’s gone and Harry laughs before explaining, confused about the lack of an equivalent in the wizarding world. 

After this, they talk about the Gringotts break-in that’s been all over the Prophet, then they move onto talking about Quidditch teams until the compartment door slides open once more.

The pale boy from Diagon Alley enters, followed by two thickset and extremely mean looking boys. Standing either side of him they looked like bodyguards. 

“Harry Potter,” he says with more interest than he’d shown throughout their entire conversation in Madam Malkins, “they’re saying all down the train that you’re in this compartment. I believe we left on a rather abrupt note the last we met.”

Harry just stares and the boy lets out a frustrated huff.

“You really ought to be a bit more polite,” the boy says.

“Considering you know my name and I don’t know yours, I’d say you’re the one not being very polite here,” Harry replies confidently and the boy looks rather affronted at his observation.

He introduces his bodyguards first, as if Harry actually cares what their names are and then says in his drawling voice. “And my name’s Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.” 

Despite his best efforts, Ron fails to hide his sniggering and Draco Malfoy turns sharply to look at him, grey eyes narrowing at Harry’s newfound friend. 

“Think my name’s funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford.”

“How can you tell that, it’s not exactly like he’s got any siblings hanging around here?” Harry asks fiercely, not liking what Draco says or the tone in which he says it.

He turns back to Harry, a cruel sneer on his face Harry is starting to think is just his resting face. Much to Harry’s annoyance he doesn’t bother to answer his question.

“You’ll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”

Harry looks at the offered hand in front of him, but doesn’t take it.

“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thank you,” he says with the same coolness he’d ended on in Madam Malkins.

He hears Ron snort from the other side of the compartment as they both watch a pink tinge colour Draco Malfoy’s pale cheeks.

“I’d be careful if I were you, Potter,” he says slowly, grey eyes flashing with dislike.

“I’m not scared of you, Malfoy,” Harry replies. 

With that Draco Malfoy lets out huff, levelling Harry with one more scornful look before vacating the compartment, Crabbe and Goyle in tow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a kudos/comment, it means a lot!


	5. The Wrong Sort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's new chapter time once again, it keeps sneaking up on me and I look at my phone reminder like 'wow is it that time again already.' I feel like a broken record at this point but I want to thank everyone who's still reading, it honestly means so much that there's people out there enjoying my self indulgent AU. I hope you enjoy this new chapter!! 
> 
> Also regularly scheduled thanks to [river](https://archiveofourown.org/users/esutohaimu) my soundboard/beta reader <3

Sirius says any house is fine, that he won’t love Harry any less regardless of where he ends up, but Harry knows that the twitch in Sirius’ nose means he’s lying, even if he doesn’t mean to be. 

Despite what everyone’s been telling him, Harry’s pretty sure Sirius will be disappointed in him if he ends up anywhere other than Gryffindor. 

Feeling sick to his stomach, he follows the rest of his year group through the halls and up some stairs, thinking of Remus’ parting words to him at King’s Cross Station. 

“Ignore Sirius. Sometimes, he still has trouble seeing your Father in you,” Remus had smiled, a kind of sad smile if Harry’s honest. “Don’t be who you think he wants you to be; be who  _ you  _ want to be.”

The only issue is that Harry has no idea who he wants to be. Throughout Harry’s childhood Sirius had been very proud every time he’d brought up the fact that he was a Gryffindor and Harry thinks that’s why he’s sure he’s going to be disappointed if that isn’t where he ends up.

Over the summer Harry had been very keen to find out how exactly he would get sorted into one of the four houses at Hogwarts. Remus let Sirius get away with coming up with more and more insane ways for first years to get sorted for no more than a week before telling him about the Sorting Hat. 

Although he’s well aware of what’s about to happen he doesn’t tell Ron, let alone any of the other first years. In fact, it’s quite amusing watching them all speculate what they’re going to have to do when Professor McGonagall leads them into the Great Hall, and after all - he wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise. Not to mention, he doesn’t think he could talk if he tried due to his stomach currently tying itself in knots. 

Even though he doesn’t believe Sirius won’t be at all disappointed if he doesn’t end up in Gryffindor, he’s  _ pretty  _ sure Sirius was joking when he said he’d disown him if he didn’t get put in Gryffindor - but what if he wasn’t?

Harry continues to worry as they’re led into the Great Hall, all the other students watching them doesn’t do much to help his nerves. 

He waits as the other kids in his year get sorted, knowing he’s going to be relatively near the end due to alphabetical order. All the names Professor McGonagall calls out are foreign to him, so he’s not paying much attention. Then he hears her call out ‘Granger, Hermione,’ and Harry’s attention peaks as he turns to watch his friend get sorted. Considering his current anxiety, he thinks the way she bounds over to the stall and rams the hat onto her head is way too enthusiastic, however the hat calls out Gryffindor and he can’t say he’s too surprised, even if he was mentally betting on her getting put in Ravenclaw. 

A few more people Harry doesn’t recognise get sorted and then Draco Malfoy’s name is called. Harry’s groan mirror’s the one Ron made when Hermione was sorted into Gryffindor as he watches Malfoy swagger up to the hat stall - scarily, the amount of cockiness he emanates reminds him of Sirius in a good mood. 

That thought causes something to finally click in Harry’s head and he realises why something about the boy's face is so familiar. He thinks back to the Black Family Tapestry he’s stared at so long it’s  _ basically  _ committed to memory. Sirius doesn’t like looking at it and isn’t too keen on Harry’s interest in it, but Harry can’t help being so drawn to a physical family tree when he’s only ever heard about his own from Sirius and Remus.

Now he’s connected the two things he can picture Draco Malfoy’s pale, pointed face in the bottom right corner, coming off a branch connected to Narcissa. As with all the people that have married into the Black family, Lucius’ name is under Narcissa’s but there’s no picture of him. Harry doesn’t think that’s a bad thing, a lot of the portraits on the tapestry aren’t exactly flattering.

Well, he guesses Sirius’ quick departure from Madam Malkins makes sense now.

* * *

When Draco’s name is called, a confident smirk is plastered on his face as he leaves his group of friends and approaches the stool that sits at the front of the Great Hall.

Head up, shoulders back - something he’s sure his parents drilled into him since before he could even walk at all. 

It’s quite an unnecessary process really, his mother and father have told him about being sorted more times than he can count, the sorting hat hadn’t even been placed onto their heads properly before it had declared them Slytherins, he’s sees no reason as to why he’d be any different.

From what he remembers, all his ancestors have been Slytherins - apart from his mother’s cousin, but they don’t talk about him. By all accounts, it’s clearly the superior house; honestly, he feels bad for the rest of them,  _ especially  _ Hufflepuff. What was their thing again - being nice? 

_ How pathetic.  _

Professor McGonagall places the hat on his head, it doesn’t say anything instantly but he’s not worried because Malfoy’s  _ don’t  _ worry. 

Then there’s silence for a good thirty seconds and he’s pretty sure Malfoy’s don’t have any rules about being impatient.

“What are you waiting for? Put me in Slytherin, you stupid hat,” he hisses at it. 

“Slytherin, eh?” it asks. “Well, you’re part Black and part Malfoy it would make sense I suppose - but no, you’re no Slytherin, you don’t have it in you.”

“ _ Excuse  _ me?” Draco replies with more venom in his voice than should be capable of an eleven year old. 

“Sorting isn’t as simple as blood, boy. Now lets see: logical, rather witty aren’t you and  _ oh -  _ there’s some creativity hidden in there too. You’ve got a great mind; it’d be wasted in anywhere other than…”

The hat pauses for a second and in that moment, Draco is filled with dread, stomach twisting horribly.

“RAVENCLAW!” it shouts.

* * *

Harry is snapped back to reality when he hears the hat call out Ravenclaw and he’s surprised to feel a pang of sympathy when he sees the complete devastation Draco’s trying to hide as he walks over to the table of confused Ravenclaws - he’s pretty sure the only people clapping either don’t understand or are doing it out of pity. 

A few more people are sorted then it’s his turn. When Professor McGonagall says Harry’s name whispers break out across the whole of the Great Hall .  His name coming out like the hiss of a boiling kettle as it rolls off the tongues of hundreds of students, an almost tangible tension bubbling up along the four tables. It's  _ awful,  _ he’s half tempted to run for it, to never get sorted at all. 

But then Ron gives him a shove and he’s walking, one foot in front of the other, on shaky legs towards the hat stool. The hat is placed on his head and he’s plunged into darkness. 

When the hat calls out Slytherin the whole room falls silent. He’d  _ asked _ , he’d  _ pleaded,  _ but it just hadn’t wanted to listen. The silence is so suffocating he  _ wishes _ they were whispering about him again. 

It feels like all the eyes in the room are on him as he walks to the Slytherin table but he's too horrified to look up to check if he's right. That is until the silence is broken by applause. Startled, Harry looks up to see half of the Slytherin table are actually  _ cheering.  _ He’s pretty sure he didn’t hear the hat call out anything else, but he still looks around to see if they could possibly be cheering for someone else, because they can’t possibly be cheering  _ him _ .

It turns out they are though, as when he turns back to actually look at the Slytherin table, his eyes instantly catch on George Weasley - his fiery red hair an extreme contrast to the green that adorns their uniforms - smiling at him encouragingly. When he realises Harry is looking back at him, he motions to the empty space next to him and Harry rushes to it. 

A few people sat near them even congratulate him on getting into Slytherin and Harry tries to focus on them instead of the ones that are glaring at him as if his presence there is a personal offence to their existence. 

The little sympathy he’d felt for Malfoy is nothing compared to how his stomach sinks when Ron is placed in Hufflepuff, it’s not like he’d thought Ron would get put in Slytherin with him but looking over the disappointed faces of the other Weasleys - excluding George, who looks truly empathetic as he shoots Ron an encouraging smile - makes him feel deeply sorry for him.

“You’d think Fred would be a bit more thoughtful about his reaction, considering,” George whispers to Harry as he glares at his twin, who just shrugs nonchalantly at him from across the hall. 

Harry himself isn’t particularly bothered about what house his friends are in. However, in the short time he’s spent in the wizarding world so far, he’s gotten the impression that, to a lot of people, your house is a lot more than well,  _ just  _ your house. 

He guesses he can't say much though; he’s currently feeling sick to the stomach after being sorted into Slytherin. Granted, George's presence is making the whole ordeal easier to bare but the rest of the house is looking at him in a variety of different ways that all make it impossible not to squirm in his seat. 

After the final first year is sorted, there’s murmurs among all the houses but no one attempts to strike up a proper conversation until Albus Dumbledore sits down after his rather odd announcement. Now he’s feeling a little less mortified with George by his side, Harry takes a good look along their table. All the first years seem to have gathered in roughly the same place, so none of them are too far from where Harry’s sat next to George.

With Kreacher at home Harry’s used to food just appearing seemingly out of nowhere, but the sheer amount of food that covers all four house tables still manages to amaze him. However, his nerves about talking to Remus and Sirius later replace his appetite and he finds himself eating a concerningly small amount. 

“Are you alright, Harry?” George asks, eyeing the pitiful amount of food on his plate. 

“Yeah, just not that hungry,” he lies, but thankfully George doesn’t press. 

George starts up a conversation with a couple of the older students and Harry eats in silence, staring down at his plate disparagingly until he feels a tap on his arm. Looking up, he meets the eyes of the girl sat directly across from him.

“I’m Pansy Parkinson,” she says in a way that most definitely reminds Harry of Malfoy.

Pansy Parkinson is pale, she has a round face with an upturned nose and warm brown eyes, but the drawl of her voice leads Harry to think their warmth is probably deceiving. She stares imploringly at Harry and it’d be a lie if he said he wasn’t uncomfortable.

“Do you really have the scar?” she asks when Harry doesn’t respond.

Reluctantly, Harry nods, having already been through this with Ron on the train.

“Can I see?” it’s phrased like a question but it’s more of a demand than anything.

Despite his better judgement, Harry lifts a hand to push his fringe out of his face. A few gasps can be heard around them and Harry quickly realises a lot more people had been paying attention to their conversation than he’d thought. 

He quickly drops his hand again, but Pansy looks delighted.

“I told you it was cooler than everyone says it is, didn’t I Blaise?” she asks the boy next to her excitedly.

“You did, and I told you that I really don’t care,” Blaise replies and despite knowing nothing else about him, in that moment he decides Blaise can’t be that bad. 

Throughout the feast Harry continues to glance at his friends across the hall. Hermione looks ecstatic about whatever her and Percy are talking about and she gives Harry a big smile every time he catches her eye. On the other hand, Ron looks positively miserable, a huge contrast to the rest of the cheery table of Hufflepuffs. Harry wishes he could do something more than give him a reassuring smile but they’re really too far away from each other to do anything else. 

***

After the feast, the prefects lead the first years to their dormitories and Harry, who has somehow ended up with Pansy practically glued to his side, follows the crowd of other Slytherins down to the dungeons. 

Andromeda had told him about the Slytherin Dungeons before and they’re exactly how she’s described them. Overall, it’s not far off from what half of the rooms at Grimmauld Place look like. Black leather sofas are dotted around, dark wooden chairs. Tables and cupboards also adorn the room and a random array of skulls act as decor along with more objects with a snake motif than Harry can count. 

A green tinge overtakes the entire room due to a combination of the greenish lamps and the long, arched windows, which look out into the depths of the Great Lake. The walls and ceiling are made of rough stone and Harry thinks the crackling fire under the elaborately carved mantelpiece seems rather out of place. 

“The dorms are up there,” George tells him, pointing to the staircase to the right of the fireplace, “first years are the first on your right.”

“Will all my stuff be up there already?” Harry asks, thinking of the two-way mirror.

“Should be, they would have sent your owl to the owlery though,” he explains. 

Looking around the common room, Harry’s relieved to see all the first year boys still there. As quietly as he can, he sneaks around to the stairs George pointed at and manages to make it up to the dormitory. He doesn’t think anyone has been paying particular attention to him but he’s still paranoid about any of the other boys walking in whilst he’s talking to Remus and Sirius. Nevertheless, the dormitory is empty and Harry easily finds his trunk at the end of one of the beds in the circular room. 

Digging around in his trunk, he quickly finds the mirror and gets comfortable on the ancient-looking four poster bed that is presumably going to be his for the next seven years. 

“Sirius Black,” he says to the mirror, heart beating rapidly in his chest.

The mirror shimmers like the surface of water when it’s a disturbed and when it settles again Remus and Sirius are there.

“Hey kiddo,” Sirius says but Harry notices his smile become strained as he undoubtedly takes in all the green surrounding him.

“How was the train journey?” Remus asks.

Harry is thankful for the easy subject, and he feels himself relax as he tells them about how he and Ron are already friends and about all the sweets they’d brought on the way there. About being reunited with Hermione and how she has actually been a witch all this time and just not known it - Remus in particular is happy about this, says he’d always had a suspicion. 

“Did you say Ron was put in Hufflepuff?” Sirius asks suddenly.

“Yeah,” Harry says, not happy about the change in topic, “but we’re still gonna be friends, George says him and Fred being in different houses hasn’t actually been a problem for them and they’re in their third year.”

“So Slytherin, eh?” Sirius asks awkwardly and Harry’s stomach sinks.

He nods nervously. It’s not like he wasn’t expecting it, he knew Sirius would be disappointed, he  _ knew  _ it.

“ _ Don’t _ ,” Remus says, giving Sirius a  _ look _ .

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sirius asks sharply.

“Andromeda and I have  _ both  _ spoken to you about this already, we don’t need to have the same discussion again, especially not in front of Harry.” 

Sirius lets out a defeated sigh and carefully avoids Remus’ stern gaze, seeming to compose himself before looking to Harry again, “Listen, what house you’re in doesn’t change how much I love you, and for what it's worth, I know your mother would agree.”

“Er-,” Harry says awkwardly but internally feeling a lot better as he decides to ignore how Sirius hadn’t brought his dad into the equation.

They get back on track from there, Harry continuing to talk about his journey on the Hogwarts Express until he gets to his second ever encounter with Draco Malfoy. 

“You be careful around that Malfoy boy,” Sirius warns, “his family are horrible, awful people, just ask Andromeda.”

“I’d gathered,” says Harry, “although I do feel kind of sorry for him.”

“Sorry?” Sirius asks incredulously, “why on  _ earth  _ would you feel sorry for him.”

“Well in Diagon Alley he was banging on about how certain he was that he wasn’t going to be in Slytherin, then the hat put him in Ravenclaw.”

Sirius chokes on air and Remus’ raises his eyebrows. It takes Sirius a minute to recover, red in the face from the fit Harry’s bit of information had thrown him into. 

“Are you quite sure?” Remus asks.

“Yes,” says Harry.

“But a Malfoy not being in Slytherin, that’s- that's unheard of,” Sirius adds, finally able to speak again.

“Well it’s not anymore, I saw it with my own two eyes,” Harry responds, “he didn’t look very happy about it though.”

“I don’t expect he is; I see why you feel sorry for him now, can’t expect Narcissa and Lucius will be too happy about that,” Sirius says, still looking rather astonished. 

They talk for a little longer until Harry hears footsteps echoing up the stone staircase. He says a quick goodbye with a promise to contact them again as soon as he can and then they’re gone, the mirror once again showing nothing more than his own reflection. 

One by one the rest of the first year boys trail into the dormitory, each finding their allocated bed by identifying their trunk. They all talk amongst themselves but not one of them says a single word to Harry. However, with the way they’re talking about blood purity he’s not sure he has a problem with being ignored. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh,,,, finally we've gotten to the point where there's just a sliver of Draco POV! I hope ya'll are enjoying so far and thank you so much for reading!! If you enjoyed please consider leaving kudos or a comment, it means a lot!!


	6. Jinxed It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, finally getting into the swing of things folks!! Hope you enjoy the new chapter!! Sorry I don't have much else to say, but as usual thank you all for reading!
> 
> Also regularly scheduled thanks to [river](https://archiveofourown.org/users/esutohaimu) my soundboard/beta reader <3

Up until the sorting Draco had been looking forward to finally being able to see the Slytherin Dungeons himself. However, being sorted into Ravenclaw meant that most certainly wasn’t going to happen. On their way up to Ravenclaw Tower after the feast the prefects had told them it was ‘airy’ but Draco had quickly decided within the hour that it’s way too barren for his personal tastes. The large circular room is furnished with tables, chairs and bookcases, which are all either bronze or some variation of royal blue to match the house colours, but there’s still a considerable amount of empty space. He supposes he should be used to it, he’s always thought the corridors of the manor could be considered severely lacking if you don’t count the portraits of his Malfoy ancestors. The actual rooms of the manor are a different story entirely. They’re full or ornate decor, ancient but extravagant furnishings and countless cases and cabinets full of things Draco thinks (but his father has never confirmed) are dark artefacts. Old paintings, landscapes and scenery, seascapes and still lifes - all produced by witches or wizards, of course - capturing the way the wind rustles the trees, or how the sunlight shining through their leaves shifts ever so slightly. The way clouds move and shift, brushstroke both an illusion but also real at the same time, if you look closely you’ll see the texture of the paint but if you step away it’s like the clouds are really there. 

The paintings are his mothers, as are the wide variety of teacups, meanwhile most of the things in the cabinets are his fathers. He doesn’t know these things as well as he knows the paintings, his father doesn’t seem to like if he looks too long, something that definitely leads him to believe they’re cursed in some way or another. 

From the window sill he sits in when forced to spend time in the common room he can see most of the Hogwarts grounds and does have to admit it’s rather beautiful, but he’s always drawn to one particular thing - the Great Lake, dark, murky waters hiding mermaids, grindylows and various other creatures he wouldn’t particularly like an encounter with. The water’s too dark to be able to see, but he knows underneath it lies the Slytherin Dungeon, where from the windows he’d actually be able to see what’s under the surface for himself, water lapping against the glass and plants caressing it like long tendrils, the water moving it in a way that makes it seem worthy of a Herbology lesson even though it’s entirely void of it’s own magic. 

They’re a week into term and his mother has been sending him letters along with his favourite sweets from home - truffles from this one specific place in France that he knows can be a pain to get to by Floo, his mother doesn’t like to aparate unless absolutely necessary - with his eagle owl, Artemis. He has yet to reply to a single one of them. 

What is he even supposed to say? A non-Slytherin Malfoy is unheard of, he’s a disgrace to his family. He wouldn’t be surprised if they straight up disowned him. As far as he’s concerned he deserves the abuse the Slytherins hurl at him, although that doesn’t mean he sits and deals with it, even in the wrong house he’s still a Malfoy and still way above them. 

Granted, he doesn’t have to tell his parents, he could just reply to his mother’s letters as if nothing is wrong. But he can’t bring himself to lie to his mother, let alone begin to think about what the consequences would be if his father found out. 

No, as much as he doesn’t want them to they’ll find out at some point on their own, he’ll deal with it then. 

The only upside he can think of is at least it was Ravenclaw - he wasn’t joking when he said he’d leave if he was sorted into Hufflepuff during the first conversation he’d had with Potter. 

After their meeting on the train he’d been sure Potter would be one of the first to take a jab at him, but he has yet to say even a single word. It’s infuriating really, he’s where  _ Draco  _ should be, sharing a dorm with  _ Draco’s  _ friends. Or at least, the people who used to be his friends, the lot of them are filthy traitors as far as he’s concerned, it’s not like he’s suddenly up and joined sides with the enemy. 

He has yet to make a single new friend, and it isn’t exactly something he plans on changing anytime soon, although he does actively socialise with the boys he shares a dorm with. Boot - light brown hair, dark brown eyes, enough freckles to challenge a Weasley - isn’t so bad, he’s the only Pureblood he dorms with and he seems to have a decent enough brain. If he’s honest, it’s actually quite refreshing after having to try and make conversation with Crabbe and Goyle. Not to mention his very interesting accent that’s a direct result of being raised by a Scottish father and Spanish mother. 

Corner on the other hand, tall, gangly and pale with a mop of black hair and warm, brown eyes that make him think too much of Pansy, isn’t particularly talkative, although that may just be around him since he’s a Half-blood and it’s not like Draco’s made an effort to keep quiet about his opinions. Goldstein’s Half-blood too, with a round, friendly face and straw-blond hair contrasting his rather serious personality. Draco’s not particularly fond of either of them, but for the most part they seem to ignore each other, so it’s not much of a problem. Besides, the two of them have absolutely nothing on Rivers.

The worst part is that when he’d first met Oliver Rivers the two had gotten along quite well up until he’d mentioned his  _ Muggle  _ parents _.  _ He’d been sorted not long after Draco and had, for some reason, decided to sit next to him. He was tanned - at least compared to Draco’s own complexion - hair golden blond and green eyes twinkling with mischief. The smile he gave him when he caught his eye held a similar mischievous air, somewhat similar to Blaise’s (who has chosen to give Draco dirty looks instead of actually commenting on the whole house situation like the rest of the Slytherins.) 

Crabbe and Goyle had immediately stopped associating with him after the sorting ceremony and seem to have taken to following around Pansy instead. It’s fine, it’s not like he  _ needed _ them in the first place. Although, he supposes they would’ve acted as a good barrier against the hexes that keep getting thrown at him across the corridor between lessons. Thankfully, his mother insisted he learn multiple counter curses as soon as he got his wand, so blocking them himself isn’t an issue. He’s pretty sure it’s Theodore Nott who’s been trying to hex him, however he wouldn’t put it past some of the other’s in their year, or even the older years, to try it. After all, the other houses may not really understand what all the fuss is about, but he’s sure the majority of Slytherins and occasional Pureblood know what a disgrace he is to his own family name. Mostly he saves hexes of his own for the people he catches trying to hex him first, but he’s thrown a few at repetitive offenders when it comes to insults - disappointment or not, he still has a family reputation to uphold, whatever house he’s in doesn’t change that, he can’t have people thinking it’s okay to insult a Malfoy to his face. 

However, he’s not sure how long he’ll be able to get away with hexing people in corridors as despite how careful he’s tried to be for the most part he’s already landed himself in multiple detentions. So much so that their head of house, Professor Flitwick had had a conversation with him about it. He’d threatened to owl his parents about it if it carried on, which wasn’t something he wanted to happen at all. He’s sure his parents wouldn’t have a problem with him hexing people insulting their family, but it would be an instant confirmation of him being sorted into Ravenclaw and in a way he thinks it’s probably better they find out through the grapevine than from a letter about his behaviour. 

After their conversation on the train Draco’s quite keen to hex Potter specifically and he definitely would if he wasn’t certain hexing the-boy-who-lived would cause more trouble than it’s worth. Not to mention that his father had actually wanted him to befriend Potter, in fact he’d been very persistent about it in the week leading up to Draco starting Hogwarts, therefore he resolves to do his best not to hex, jinx or curse him in any way. As much as he knows he’ll be disappointing his father even more, Potter rejected him on the train, showed an atrocious display of manners, and has decided to befriend a blood traitor and - even worse - a  _ Mudblood,  _ so he will not be making any further efforts to befriend him in the near future. 

However, it seems that Potter has a very different stance on the matter. Conveniently, he’s looking at the entrance to the Great Hall from his seat at the Ravenclaw table when Potter walks through it, hair irritatingly sticking up in all directions. Much to Draco’s shock, instead of joining the Slytherins, or really any other table since he’s taken to sitting with the Gryffindors instead, he begins making his way towards the Ravenclaw table, more specifically beelining straight to where he’s sat.

“What do you want, Potter?” Draco sneers as he comes to a stop at the empty gap on the bench opposite him. A quick glance around the room confirms that quite a few people are staring and he lets out an insufferable sigh, it’s not like he has an issue with being the centre of attention but it’s really too early for it. 

“There’s no need to be so hostile, Malfoy,” Potter replies, rolling his eyes in a way that makes Draco grind his teeth. 

“I haven’t come to tease you, if that’s what you’re thinking, I really don’t give a shit about what house you’re in, Draco” he doesn’t even have to look over to know his fellow first years are rather enjoying watching them and he takes a second to shoot a meangingly glare at Terry across the table.

“It’s Malfoy to you, Potter,” someone sniggers, he pretty sure it’s Rivers, and has to stop himself from turning his attention to him instead. 

“I…” 

At this point the majority of people seem to have gotten bored and have turned back to their breakfasts, so Draco sits up a little straighter and levels Potter with a look.

“If you have something to say spit it out or leave me alone,” he’s tired, the older Ravenclaws said the sound of the wind around the tower was comforting, but he’s not used to it and that along with midnight astronomy class has left him exhausted. 

However, at this point, Potter seems to actually remember why he’s here and holds out his hand. 

“Do you want to be friends?” he asks.

Harry Potter asking to be his friend after rejecting Draco’s offer of the very same thing the week before stings. If it weren’t for the earnesty in his voice Draco would have instantly assumed he was taking the piss and it’s that exact earnesty that angers him the most. Heat rising up his neck and into his cheeks, he lets out an unnecessarily loud scoff.

“Absolutely not, now sod off unless you want to get hexed, I don’t need your emotional charity.” 

“Well, the offer’s always there if you change your mind.” Potter says cooly before walking off and Draco’s hand itches to reach for his wand, but he manages to resist, if only for the sake of his reputation that’s already been ruined before he could begin to build it up.

* * *

Maybe Harry's approach at befriending Malfoy wasn't the best. It's not like he'd thought it through very well, the idea had kind of just come to him when he’d entered the Great Hall, Malfoy’s white-blond hair catching his eye in the crowd of Ravenclaw students. Malfoy hadn’t exactly been pleasant let alone nice in the short time Harry’s known him, but he can’t help but keep thinking back to how  _ certain  _ he was that he’d end up in Slytherin, something about it just makes his stomach sink and although he doesn’t want to feel bad for him he finds himself doing it anyway.

When Harry had met him for the first time in Diagon Alley he’d made it sound like being sorted into Slytherin was the only option and whilst Ron says it’s what he deserves Harry can’t help feeling at least a little bad for him - after all, their situations aren’t entirely different. 

During his first couple of days at Hogwarts, his friendship with Hermione and Ron had been odd as he wasn’t particularly sure where they stood. Hermione had answered that question for him when she’d cornered him on his way to lunch, forced him to come and sit at the Gryffindor table with her and given him a lecture about the complete lack of importance houses really serve. In his and Ron’s case, it seems they were just destined to get along and after one ridiculously boring History of Magic lesson together and Harry repeating some of Hermione’s better points of the subject, they’d decided not to let their houses come between them.

Wednesday had brought with it his first midnight Astronomy lesson, which he still doesn’t understand the meaning of since it already gets dark around eight o’clock this time in the year. Due to how dark it was he’d managed to get away with having an earphone in one ear for pretty much the whole lesson, the songs on Sirius’ mixtape weren’t exactly the sort of songs he could fall asleep to. Someone - he thinks it might have been Remus - had mentioned to him over the summer that electrics didn’t work at Hogwarts, something to do with there being too much magic in the air. This of course had left him rather worried about his Walkman, but he’d decided to bring it just in case, and thank Merlin he had since, as George had explained, the magic doesn’t affect anything that runs off batteries, as long as the mechanisms in it are simple enough. 

Fortunately Transfiguration had been interesting otherwise he’d have had no way of stopping himself from falling asleep in the lesson and McGonagall’s threat to turn either him or Ron into a pocket watch had stuck with him. 

Later in the day he’d had Potions with the Gryffindors and he’d rather not dwell on it, he’d already gathered his head of house had some sort of vendetta against him but that lesson was taking one extreme to the next. Sirius had warned him about Snape, and he can see what he meant.

To round off the school week Hagrid had invited him to tea, which had been nice even if the rock cakes were practically inedible.

“I think that was the right thing to do Harry, it’s not your fault he’s too caught up in himself to appreciate your kindness,” Hermione says once he’s seated himself at the Gryffindor table and explained exactly what he was doing talking to Malfoy in the first place.

“Well I think you’re bloody mental,” Ron adds and Hermione glares at him.

“What?” he asks incredulously. “He’s a Malfoy, he’s the  _ enemy _ !” 

Ron then winces and Harry's pretty sure Hermione kicked him under the table. 

“Why are you even sat here?” Ron asks her. “Last time I checked you’re not exactly our friend.”

For a split second the amount of hurt Ron’s words cause are apparent on her face, but then she turns to glare at him, something vicious in her eye.

“Well, last time  _ I  _ checked, this is the Gryffindor table, which is my house, not yours.”

“Also, she  _ is  _ my friend,” Harry feels the need to add and Hermione gives him an appreciative smile for his efforts.

The three of them then fall into an awkward silence as they eat up until Pansy Parkinson comes strolling over to where they're sat at the Gryffindor table, sliding into the empty space to Harry’s right. Blaise trails after her reluctantly, but doesn't sit down. 

After their conversation at the feast, Pansy had decided that she and Harry were best friends. It took him a few days to realise that he didn’t particularly have a say in this and quickly decided to just go along with it. Besides, unless you count Pansy herself, she keeps the less kind characters in their year away from him so he’s not sure he should complain too much.

"I'm not sitting at another table Pansy,  _ especially  _ not the Gryffindors," Blasie says, arms crossed and Crabbe and Goyle, who have taken to following Pansy around, nod in agreement like a pair of parrots.

Blowing her fringe out of her face, Pansy waves her hand dismissively at them, "I never told you you had to sit with me,  _ I'm  _ sitting with Harry because he's my friend,  _ you  _ don't have to."

Rolling his eyes exaggeratedly, Blaise leaves for the Slytherin table. Crabbe and Goyle look confused for a second until Pansy shoos them away and they quickly follow in his footsteps. 

“You didn’t wait for me in the common room this morning, Harry,” Pansy states in a tone of mock offense and looks to Hermione before sneering, “and to think you continue to choose this  _ filth  _ over me.”

Despite what he’d just said about Hermione not being their friend Ron looks about ready to throttle her. Harry rolls his eyes, he’s already way too used to Pansy saying things like this and he knows Hermione is too. It doesn't get any nicer to hear but there’s not much he can do about it. As Hermione herself had pointed out when she’d caught Harry and Ron planning to jinx her along with a few other of the Slytherins that had been particularly unkind - making outright enemies with the Slytherins wouldn’t help any of them. She seems pretty set on her  _ kill them with kindness  _ strategy and the comments don’t seem to massively upset her so Harry doesn’t see the harm in trying.

“You know, Pansy,” he starts as she smiles at him sickeningly sweet. “I don’t remember actually agreeing to be your friend.” 

Pansy lets out a laugh at that, as if Harry had just told a really good joke instead of stating a fact.

“I don’t know why you’re saying that as if it’s a problem, that’s how all the best friendships start,” she says, piling food onto her plate as if this is exactly where she’s supposed to be.

When he makes eye contact with Ron again, he looks more furious than before and Harry shakes his head discouragingly whilst George reaches over to place a hand on his shoulder - Harry’s sure it’s more out of the need to hold him back in case he does try anything than actually comforting his younger brother. 

He’d hated Pansy as much as Ron clearly does at first, but after George had explained how most Pureblood Slytherins come to Hogwarts with their parents prejudices already instilled into them, he began to find it easier to dismiss Pansy’s unnecessary comments - he knows to an extent about the way blood purists raise their children from things Sirius has told him. Much like what Malfoy had said to him on the Hogwarts express, it did all sound like some amalgamation of regurgitated information from their parents just like George had told him. He also finds Hagrid’s words from Diagon Alley coming back to him on various occasions: 

_ “S’pose you can’t blame the young'uns though, ‘tis not their fault that they been brough’ up tha’ way, is it?” _

And really, under all the snarky comments about blood purity and house pride, Pansy could be quite entertaining when she wasn’t being incredibly irritating. Besides, it’s not like getting rid of her is an option, everytime he tries it fails miserably. 

"I saw you leaving the Ravenclaw table when I came in, were you talking to Draco?" she asks. 

"And what if I was?" Harry counters, not sure if he's going to like where this is going. 

"Just curious," she replies, there isn't any underlying snark like Harry thought there would be, instead when she glances over to where Malfoy is sat she looks almost sad. 

_ Curious _ . 

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it thought, because he, Ron and Pansy have a History of Magic lesson to get to. Not that he cares for turning up on time, him and Ron will definitely just end up sleeping through the whole of the lesson and Pansy will do that thing where it looks like she’s paying full attention but has somehow managed to fall asleep with her eyes open. 

At least Professor Binns doesn’t call on them to answer questions like the other professors do or else they’d all be screwed. 

***

“I can’t believe you got to play quidditch without me,” Ron complains with a mouth full of turkey sandwich. 

“ _ I _ can’t believe you did it at all, as Professor McGonagall said you all could have broken your necks,” Hermione says shrilly, sliding over with her plate so she’s sat next to Ron.

“Remind me why we keep sitting at the Gryffindor table again?” Ron asks but both Harry and Hermione ignore him. 

“Well yeah, but we didn’t so it’s fine,” Harry argues and she lets out an exasperated sigh. He knows it’s not fine, it’s very likely Professor Snape is going to owl Sirius and Remus and then he’ll be in  _ very  _ big trouble, but Hermione doesn’t need to know that. Despite this, he can’t help but be in a good mood, minus the shouting he thinks his first flying lesson went rather. 

After Neville had fallen off his broom, Madam Hooch had muttered something about a broken wrist before leaving to take him to the infirmary. Then, another Gryffindor called Seamus Finnigan had found Neville’s remembrall in the grass. He’d held it up triumphantly and suggested they try and play Quidditch with it. After Seamus had explained how to play Quidditch with only one ball Harry thought it was a brilliant idea. 

The only other Gryffindor that seemed to agree with Seamus was Dean Thomas, which had meant Harry was outnumbered until Pansy had sighed reluctantly before climbing gracefully onto her broom and kicking off. Showing that, although Harry knew she wasn’t bothered about Quidditch at all she was at least competent on a broom.

“Harry couldn’t have broken his neck if he tried, he’s a natural on a broom,” Pansy says as she joins them once more.

Harry’s sure he’d only been a natural because of how much he’s read up about technique in the past but he takes the compliment anyway. 

“I thought you hated Quidditch, how do you know so much?” Ron asks her. 

“Dra- A friend of mine’s pretty obsessed, I picked some stuff up,” she waves the question off and the three of them pretend they didn’t hear her cut herself off. 

“Anyway,” she continues and Harry doesn’t miss Hermione rolling her eyes at the implications of what’s to come in Pansy’s tone, “I was going to talk to Marcus Flint about letting you try out for Seeker.”

“Flint? You mean the fifth year with the muscles?” Harry asks and Pansy gives him a weird look but nods.

“Yeah, he’s the Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team.”

“George says Flints a horrible git and we’re first years, why would he listen to you?” Ron asks.

“Because I won’t give him a choice,” she replies simply.

Harry knows exactly what it’s like to be on the receiving end of Pansy’s persistence and he hadn't been able to hold off giving in for longer than a day. He's not surprised she was put in Slytherin, it’s exactly where she belongs, her ambition is insane and the determination in her eyes kind of scares him. 

Quite frankly, he feels bad for Marcus Flint. 

***

It happens on his way to Charms, by some miracle he’s managed to shake Pansy off for once so he’s by himself when he catches sight of Malfoy and his sleek white-blond hair from across the corridor. He’s about to go and irritate him by being friendly when he appears to trip on seemingly nothing, falling almost flat on his face. Harry would laugh, but that pang of sympathy hits him once again and he can’t seem to find it funny.

He looks around the corridor in hopes of being able to spot the culprit, not that he’d be able to do anything. After giving up on that, he sees that no one else is giving Malfoy more than a second glance so Harry takes it upon himself to check if he’s okay. Crossing the narrow corridor, he crouches next to where he’s crouched, picking up the various items that have fallen out of his bag.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, picking up one of his books and holding it out to him.

Malfoy looks up sharply and snatches the book out of Harry’s hands, grey eyes full of malice. 

“I don’t need your help, Potter, I’m  _ fine, _ ” his tone is harsh but Harry can see in his expression being jinxed in the middle of the corridor has upset him as much as it would anyone else. Harry does note to himself however, that much like Sirius, Draco Malfoy would be too proud to admit it. 

“I was just trying to help,” he replies sincerely. 

“Why are you so determined to be nice to me?” he asks as he stands and brushes off his robes, straightening his posture and squaring his shoulders.

“I thought I’d made that part obvious,” Harry states and Malfoy raises a brow at him, “I want to be your friend.” 

Malfoy scoffs and Harry frowns, he’s not quite sure why the other boy is so determined to have no friends. He’s seen the way he out right ignores most of the other people in their year when they so much as try to speak to him. Terry Boot told him he’s had a couple conversations with him but nothing substantial and when they’re not in class he mostly just mopes around the common room.

“I’ll tell you what,” he begins slowly, “let's have a wizard’s duel. Wands only - no contact.”

“And what’s the point of that?” Harry asks skeptically. 

“If you win, I’ll give in to your incessant pleas and be your friend.”

“And if you win?”

“I hex you to next Tuesday and you never come near me again,” there’s a challenge in his eye that Harry can’t help but take up.

“Okay,” Harry replies.

At that Malfoy takes on a smug demeanour and Harry’s not sure whether to be worried or not. 

“Deal?” he asks, holding out his hand for Harry to shake on it.

“Deal,” Harry agrees, gripping his hand and giving it a firm shake before heading to Charms, feeling uncertain about the whole thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a kudos/comment, it means a lot!


	7. The Seeker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I know it's only been a week instead of a fornight, but considering the currenly pandemic with a lot of people self isolating or social distancing I thought I'd switch to weekly chapter updates for the forseeable future. I hope you're all doing okay and staying safe wherever you are in the world right now!

Turns out Malfoy had set him up and Harry can’t really say he’s surprised, he’s just glad that in the end Filch hadn’t caught them. And, although he and Ron agreed it was quite good fun, he’s already decided that their meeting with the three-headed dog was  _ not  _ something Remus and Sirius needed to know about. 

It was all going well to start with - he’d spent a long time just lying in bed, listening to the sound of the other boys falling asleep. Then he’d managed to sneak out of the dormitory without waking any of them up and he’d thought meeting up with Ron outside the Hufflepuff Basement was going to be smooth sailing from there. 

Clearly, he’d overlooked Pansy’s over-attentiveness to  _ everything  _ he does.

“Where are you going at a time like this?” she’d asked and Harry had turned around sharply, only now realising she was lounging on one of the black leather sofas - clearly waiting for him. 

Harry, already tired from being up at nearly midnight, hadn’t been able to think up a proper excuse and Pansy had ended up tagging along despite his arguments. Then, what had originally been two became five when Harry and Pansy got to the Hufflepuff Basement to find that Hermione had overheard Ron and Harry planning to meet up. 

“I didn’t think there was any chance of stopping you from doing this, so I’ve come to make sure you don’t get killed - or worse,  _ expelled _ ,” she’d said shrilly. 

“What’s he doing here?” Ron had asked and only then had Harry noticed Neville Longbottom stood anxiously behind Hermione.

“He got locked out of the common room, then the Fat Lady disappeared so I told him he could come with me as long as he doesn’t tell,” she’d given Neville a stern look and he’d nodded sheepishly. 

It’s not like Harry and Hermione weren’t friends anymore, far from it, but the difference in her and Ron’s attitude to life at Hogwarts had created a weird rift between the three despite their previous agreement. Of course, Harry  _ knows  _ what she’s like - this is a whole new experience for her, a new school, a new  _ world.  _ But that doesn’t change that she’s bossy and uptight and gets annoyed when he doesn’t follow the rules. 

Ron on the other hand is fun, they goof around in lessons, and have probably already lost a fair few house points, but being in different houses means that neither of them particularly care about house points so it isn’t much of a loss. 

Although Harry gets along perfectly fine with the two on their own, much to his dismay Hermione and Ron seem to have garnered some dislike for each other. Ron says she’s too bossy and annoying but Harry is beginning to think he’s just jealous that she’s in Gryffindor and he isn’t. 

Hermione telling Ron she’d almost told Percy on them really didn’t help.

Despite this, the four of them had set off towards the trophy room with minimal bickering. All in all, Harry thinks it’s a miracle they didn’t get caught. 

At first, Harry had had hope that Malfoy was just late, but when they had to leg it out of there before Filch caught them Harry officially gave that hope up.

Somehow, despite the fact that he and Ron both agree it had been a pretty good adventure he still can’t shake how angry he is about Malfoy lying to him. He’s not even sure why, it’s not exactly like he had any reason to trust him.

That was all last Thursday, meaning it’s been five days since he and Malfoy were  _ supposed  _ to have their duel and neither of them have spoken to each other since. Harry has decided to take it as a sign that maybe Pansy’s persistent streak is rubbing off on him too much and has taken a break from trying to convince Malfoy to accept his offer of friendship.

“Potter,” Harry looks up from his breakfast to see Marcus Flint, Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, walking towards him. 

“Er, yes?” he responds, Flint has a permanent scowl and threatening tone to his voice that makes it impossible to tell if he’s actually in a bad mood or not. 

“Parkinson hasn’t left me alone all fucking week, said she wouldn’t leave me alone until I let you try out for seeker. Thought about hexing her so she’d fuck off, didn’t wanna get in shit with Snape for hexing a first year so you’d better be damn good.”

Harry had tried to convince Pansy to drop it but she hadn’t listened and this was the result. Flint didn’t seem impressed and Harry hasn’t even been on a broom since that first flying lesson. 

“Ok,” he responds after realising Flint is expecting a response.

“Meet me on the pitch after dinner, if you’re as good as Parkinson says - not that I trust her to know what she’s on about - I’ll ask Snape about making an exception to the first year rule.” 

***

Much to his surprise when he turns up to the Quidditch pitch after dinner, it's not just Flint waiting for him. Next to him, with a large wooden crate under his arm, stands George Weasley. George is the beater for the Slytherin team, Harry remembers him telling him all about the rivalry between him and Fred since Fred is a beater for the Gryffindor team. Still upset he was in a different house to his brothers, he’d been reluctant to try out at first, but he hadn’t been able to stay away from playing Quidditch and tried out anyway. Despite the fact that the Slytherin team aren’t exactly known for playing fair, he says he’s taken it upon himself to make sure they're not filthy great cheaters  _ all  _ of the time. 

When Harry is close enough, Flint thrusts one of the school’s standard Shooting Stars at him. It’s the same model he’d ridden in their flying lesson, the handle worn and twigs sticking out in a variety of angles, making it the complete opposite of aerodynamic. Although he hasn’t had the chance to try it out, Harry craves the Nimbus Two Thousand he knows is still in his bedroom back at Grimmauld Place. 

“Get on it then,” Flint says harshly and Harry does as he’s told, clambering on the Shooting Star and kicking off just like Madam Hooch had told them to do. 

“What exactly am I supposed to be doing?” Harry asks because it’s not like Flint has told him. 

“I’m gonna be testing your reaction time and accuracy,” Flint explains, “and I’m not gonna be happy if this is a waste of my time.” 

Harry nods, worried if he says something wrong Flint won't hesitate to pelt the quaffle straight at his face. 

Flying is brilliant, Harry knows that from their first flying lesson and he’s ecstatic to be able to be back of a broom even if it is an awful Shooting Star. Somehow it’s both relaxing and completely thrilling at the same time and he absolutely  _ loves  _ it. 

He’s not quite sure how long he gets snitch-sized balls thrown at him, but he does know he’s caught just about every single one no matter the angle or distance Flint throws it from. Flint had also gotten George to pelt bludgers at him, which was terrifying by no stretch of the imagination - he’s not sure if it was the terror or if he is actually naturally good at it but he hadn’t been hit once. 

It’s beginning to get dark when Flint finally lets him land. George lands right next to him, a wild grin stretched from ear to ear. 

“Sorry I was so harsh, mate. Flint said he’d kick me off the team if I went easy of you,” he explains, getting off his broom before attempting to return the single bludger to the crate, “besides, I want a decent Seeker on the team as much as he does.”

He’s tired, sweaty and all his muscles ache but Flint is as close to smiling as Harry thinks he’s ever seen him.

“Impressive, you’ve flown before then?” Harry thinks the lack of threat in his tone is more disconcerting than when it is there.

“Only during that first flying lesson,” he replies and Flint furrows his thick brows at him.

“So you haven’t even got your own broom?”

Harry tells him about his Nimbus and if he’s not mistaken Flint’s holding back a smile. 

“Do you think you can get it sent here?” 

Harry nods, he sees no reason as to why Remus and Sirius wouldn’t be willing to send it to him, they know exactly how much he wants to play Quidditch.

“Alright, I’ll talk to Snape about convincing Dumbledore to bend the first year rule on broomsticks ‘cause we can’t have you playing on one of those, you’ll get thrashed no matter how good you are,” he says, trying to keep the stern tone in his voice, “you get one chance, you don’t catch the snitch first match and you’re straight off the team, understand?” 

Nodding vigorously, Harry hands the Shooting Star back before setting off back to the castle with George, whilst Flint stays behind to put everything back where it should be. 

Even later that evening, Flint finds him in the common room to tell him that after some convincing both Snape and Dumbledore had - albeit reluctantly - agreed to let him play using his Nimbus Two Thousand. 

“Well done, you’re the youngest house player in a century,” George tells him happily whilst clapping him on the shoulder. 

“I’m positive Snape only agreed because he can’t bear the thought of losing to McGonagall and Wood’s determined to win this year,” Flint explains. 

This doesn’t surprise Harry - when Flint had mentioned he’d have to put this all past Snape first Harry’s hope had deflated as fast as a punctured balloon. His head of house hated him so much he’d actually taken points away from his own house on multiple occasions. 

“Isn’t Wood  _ always  _ determined to win?” George asks. 

“Yeah, but rumour is he’s  _ already  _ got his team working harder than ever before,” Flint replies, looking off into the distance for a few seconds before remembering himself. 

“Make sure he knows when practice is,” Flint says to George, “the rest of the team aren’t gonna be happy about this anyway but don’t give them a reason to hate you even more.”

“When’s practise then and why couldn’t he just tell me himself?” Harry asks George after Flint retreats up the stairs to the dormitories. 

“Seven on Tuesdays and Thursdays, whatever time Flint decides on Sundays,” George tells him and Harry makes a mental note of it, “and I think he got sidetracked thinking about Wood working his team so hard, he does that a lot, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Er, ok,” Harry replies.

“You think you can get your broomstick by Thursday’s practise?” 

“I can try,” he says, “hang on, I’ll be back in a second.” 

George gives him a quizzical look as he goes to retrieve the two-way mirror from his dormitory. It’s late, late enough for the rest of the first years to be in their dorm but not late enough for them all to be asleep, so it’ll be easier to talk to Remus and Sirius in the common room. Fortunately, none of the boys pay him a second glance when he enters, something that’s become pretty normal. 

He doesn’t think they hate him, he’s spoken to Blaise quite a few times and on occasion even gotten something substantial out of Crabbe and Goyle. As of yet he’s never had a conversation with Theodore Nott, but he’s also gathered that not many people have conversations with Theodore Nott. 

“What you doing with a mirror, Harry?” George asks when Harry props it up against a pile of books on the table they’re sat at. 

Instead of answering, Harry says Sirius’ name and as usual, after the surface has finished rippling, his godfather's face appears.

“Woah, cool, two-way mirrors are  _ super _ rare,” George says and Harry grins at him before turning back to the mirror.

“Where’s Moony?” he asks, instantly noticing the lack of his second parent. 

“I’m here, hang on,” and a second later Remus appears next to Sirius, “are you okay? Do you need anything?” 

“Uh, yeah, I’m the new seeker for the Quidditch team and Flint wants me to-

“You’re the seeker? Harry, that’s fantastic!” Sirius interrupts, positively beaming with pride. 

After the first week Sirius had stopped being so weird about Harry being in Slytherin, no doubt because of something Remus had said to him but it still means a lot to Harry that he’s trying to change his outlook. 

“That really is wonderful, how did that happen?” Remus asks. 

They already know about the incident from the week before, so Harry fills them in on the rest, finishing with how Flint wants him to have his Nimbus Two Thousand. 

“Of course we can send you your broomstick, if we leave the shrinking charm on it then it’ll be easy for Hedwig to carry,” Remus says, immediately thinking about the logistics, as usual. 

Sirius, on the other hand, is still smiling ear to ear with watery eyes when he says, “James would be so proud of you, you must be the youngest seeker in-”

“Over a century,” Harry says happily, “George told me.” 

Harry likes to think his dad would be proud but hearing it from Sirius means all that much more. His dad is the reason he’d been so interested in Quidditch in the first place, Sirius had told him what a talented Chaser he had been and Harry had been sold. That’s when he’d found every single book he could on Quidditch in the library and started asking Sirius if there was possibly any way they could go see a match. 

Much to his dismay, Sirius told him they couldn’t possibly without breaking one consistent rule, but he had made a promise to take him to a match sometime after he’d started at Hogwarts.

“We learnt the Engorgement Charm last year,” George says suddenly to seemingly no one, before turning to Harry, “I can enlarge it for you.”

“That’s sorted then,” Remus announces, “was there anything else you needed?”

“Yeah, has Snape been causing you any more trouble, tell him I’ll come straight there and curse him myself if he doesn’t lay off,” Sirius threatens.

“No, Snapes been fine,” Harry lies, not quite liking the idea of his godfather coming all the way to Hogwarts to assault one of his professors.

He also doesn’t think it’d particularly help Snape's opinion of him. 

“Alright, but you better tell me if he does do anything,” Sirius says, a malice in his eyes that makes Harry uncomfortable. 

***

After being made Seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch team nothing anywhere near as interesting happens until Halloween - although, he’s not sure  _ interesting  _ is the best word for it.

They’d only gotten into this mess because Ron, being his ignorant self, had upset Hermione so much she’d run off crying. Only, since he didn’t have Charms with them, no one had decided to tell him she’d been crying in the bathroom all afternoon up until the Halloween feast. 

“Ron, you  _ have  _ to go and apologise,” Harry insists and Ron looks at him as if he’s grown a second head. 

“But I’m eating!” is his response and Harry really can’t be asked to deal with Ron’s awful excuses.

Standing up, he drags Ron with him by the arm. Although Ron is a fair sight taller than him, all the Quidditch practise he’s been doing the past month has paid off and Ron can’t seem to get out of his grip. Luckily for Harry, everyone’s way too invested in chatting and eating, so it’s not difficult to sneak out the back of the Great Hall without being noticed. 

They find the girls bathrooms eventually. Although, it takes them a while since neither of them are anywhere near used to navigating the ridiculous amount of corridors in Hogwarts and have also never had the need to know where the girls' bathrooms are. 

“Hello,” Harry says cautiously as they enter the seemingly empty bathroom.

“Harry?” she croaks, voice weak from all the crying.

“Yeah, we came to check on you,” he replies.

Hermione then slowly emerges from one of the cubicles, tear stained cheeks and red rimmed eyes. It’s a state Harry’s seen her in before and he’s annoyed he hadn’t known about this earlier so he could have come to comfort her. 

Her face softens as she looks at Harry, but then she realises that Ron’s not far behind him and her expression becomes stone cold. 

“What’s  _ he  _ doing here?” she demands, voice trembling. 

“ _ He,”  _ Harry shoves Ron forcefully in Hermione’s direction, “has come to apologise.” 

“Has he now,” replies Hermione, doubt lacing her voice as she purposefully folds her arms. 

“I… Uh… Yeah, guess I’m-” Ron’s stumbling attempt at the start of an apology is cut short when a low grunt echoes through the corridor outside and into the bathroom. 

It’s followed by the repetitive sound of the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet getting closer and closer. The three of them turn to the doorway simultaneously, waiting in frightened anticipation. Closer still, the footsteps sound like they’re just outside and the grunts coming from whatever it is are almost deafening. 

“If we’re about to die then I want you to know I really am sorry,” Harry hears Ron mutter to Hermione. 

By the time the thing manages to squeeze its way through the doorway all three of them have their wands out, raised and pointed at it. Although Harry’s certain none of them know any defensive or offensive spells that could be any use against the grotesque creature in front of them. 

“That’s a mountain troll,” Hermione says in a terrified whisper, “I read all about them in Fantastic Beasts and-”

“Nevermind where you read about them, Hermione,” Harry hisses, “what the hell are we going to do about it?” 

Harry turns to Hermione, used to her being the level headed one, but she’s not looking at him. Her wide, frightened eyes are fixed on the troll and she looks like she’s about to faint. 

Somehow, the troll doesn’t seem to have yet noticed that there’s three eleven year olds huddled into the corner of the room. It lumbers around the bathroom, blinking stupidly, it’s large club dragging along the tiled floor.

“Trolls are s’posed to be real dumb,” Ron whispers so quietly, Harry has to strain to hear him, “we can try and confuse it to get the upper hand. Hermione’s too terrified to do anything, you take her that way with you and I’ll go this way.” 

There’s a tone of command in his voice that’s new to Harry and he does as he’s told, dragging Hermione with him to duck under the sinks, whilst he watches Ron move to the other side of the bathroom. 

“Oy, pea-brain!” yells Ron, chucking a pipe the troll had knocked to the floor on it’s way in at it’s head. 

The troll doesn’t seem to be bothered about the pipe hitting it but it does react to Ron’s yell, turning around sluggishly and advancing on him as fast as it can. 

After that, everything else that happens is a bit of a blur. Harry had jumped onto the troll and climbed it like a tree, sticking his wand up its nose in an effort to distract it. By some miracle, that had worked and whilst it was busy trying to get Harry off Ron had used the levitation charm on its club, dropping it on it’s tiny head with a loud  _ crack  _ as it made contact with it’s thick skull. 

Impact with the solid tiles of the bathroom floor was not pleasant but Harry’s just glad he hadn’t been crushed by the troll, which now lays motionless on the floor. 

He gets to his feet, still trembling whilst Ron stares at the troll, still shocked at the spell he’d been able to cast. Harry is so out of it he doesn’t realise Hermione is standing right beside him until she speaks.

“You  _ did  _ it, Ron! That was brilliant!”

Ron looks up with a start and grins sheepishly at Hermione.

“Well, I- Uh, wouldn’t have been able to do it if you hadn’t told me how to say it right earlier,” he admits, avoiding direct eye contact with both of them as a pink tinge spreads across his cheeks.

“Do you think it’s dead?” Hermione asks, voice still quivering uncertainly. 

“Nah, I think it’s just knocked out,” Harry says.

“You were brilliant too, Harry,” Hermione says, but it’s not as enthusiastic as what she said to Ron, “although I’m not sure it was the  _ smartest  _ thing to do.”

“It’s not like you had any bright ideas,” Harry comments sourly but then there’s the sound of loud footsteps and the three of them look to the doorway in time to see Professor McGonagall burst through the door. 

She’s followed by both Snape and Quirrell and Harry’s stomach sinks at the sight of the head of his house - this was not going to end well. 

Snape hadn’t wanted to believe them, but eventually they managed to convince the three professors that they had no idea that there was a troll loose in the school and had just so happened to be where it was. 

“Still,” says Professor McGonagall after they’d finished explaining what had happened, “all three of you should have been at the feast, I don’t know how you managed to sneak out in the first place, five points will be taken from each of your houses for your disregard of rules.” 

The three of them nod solemnly in understanding.

“I still say you were lucky - not many first-years could have taken on a full grown-mountain troll, but I will not reward stupidity. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go back to your common rooms, students are finishing the feast in their houses.”

So the three of them leave the girls bathroom together, splitting off at different points to go to their respective common rooms. As much as Harry would like to add this to the list of things he absolutely isn’t going to tell Sirius and Remus about this is  _ definitely  _ something McGonagall will write home about. As it turns out, Remus and Professor McGonagall have been in regular contact ever since Remus had left Hogwarts. So, even though he doesn’t have to worry about Snape writing to them due to his and Sirius’ deep seated hatred of each other that he’d recently learnt about via Remus there is no way of avoiding Professor McGonagall telling them about everything he’s been up to. 

By the time Harry gets back to the common room, he’s not worrying about that anymore because he’s realised that after their ordeal in the bathroom, there's no way Hermione and Ron can continue on acting like they’re not friends, or at least he hopes so. He’s so content after that realisation that he can’t find it within him to be irritated when he enters the common room and Pansy is immediately on him, asking him quick fire questions about where he's been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a kudos/comment, it means a lot!


	8. Home for Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really have anything to say this week apart from I hope you're all doing okay and staying safe, for now I will leave you with this longer than usual chapter. Hope you guy enjoy and I'll see ya'll round the same time next week! *salutes*

When the Christmas holidays eventually roll around Draco’s dreading going back to the manor for reasons he can’t quite put into words. Sure, it’s mostly down to the fact he’s an absolute disappointment but there’s something else he can’t quite put a finger on. 

When the end of term finally comes and they board the train he sits in a compartment with Boot, Corner and Goldstein. Much to his disapproval Rivers also ends up joining them at some point with a Hufflepuff he doesn’t know the name of in tow. He says a polite enough hello to Susan Bones when she introduces herself, if only because he recognises her family name as being quite important but then sits back, mentally removing himself from any conversation. 

Alternating from looking out the window to glancing at the compartment door, he doesn’t fail to notice Potter hovering outside the compartment pretty early on in the journey, probably trying to decide whether it’s a good idea to enter or not. Thankfully, he decides against it and Draco gets to stew in his own nerves for the whole journey back to King’s Cross. Thanks to Rivers’ presence a weird tension fills the compartment and he tries his best to ignore it the same way they’re currently ignoring him.

His parents pick him up at the station like they’d arranged, his mother hugs him and his father gives him an acknowledging nod. They speak but it’s just small talk, no one brings up what house he’s in and if it weren’t for the tension that seems to have followed him out of the train compartment he might have let himself entertain the thought that they still have no idea at all. 

During the first day he spends back at the manor, nothing seems to be amiss. The matter of him being a disappointment to the Malfoy name remains unspoken but, as far as Draco’s concerned, there’s no question as to whether they know or not. Despite this, nothing of note actually takes place and he spends the day shut away in his room with a book, Artemis coming and going, occasionally nipping at his hand for attention and making him lose his place on the page. 

The next day is Christmas eve, his father has to go to work at the Ministry so it’s just his mother and himself in the manor, as it’d been most of his childhood before starting at Hogwarts.

When he leaves his room the house is deadly silent but the suffocating tension from the day before is gone just like his father. Barefoot and still in his pyjamas, he walks to the dining room to find his mother sat at the head of the long black table. Morning light spills into the room from the long windows and the snow outside, which has gotten thicker overnight, brightens the entire house. The crackling of the fire is both warm and soothing as he takes a seat by his mother. 

“You don’t have to wait for me to have breakfast, you know,” he says.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I do,” she replies, a sad note in her voice, “I’ve missed having you at home.” 

“Well I’m glad one of you missed me,” he speaks before he thinks, voice dripping with bitterness. Whilst his father hasn’t actually said anything, there’s a noticeable lack of the affection he’s used to getting from him.

Before he can reach for his cutlery however, his mother places a hand over his own. He meets her bright blue eyes, so similar yet so different to the stony grey he inherited from his father. 

“Your father’s not thinking straight recently,” she begins and Draco scoffs in an attempt to prevent the lump building in his throat.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” he replies but she ignores him.

“Just give him time to process, I- We never even- Hadn’t thought to consider...” she trails off and Draco looks away, unable to watch the tears welling up in his mothers eyes.

“That I’d be such an awful disappointment?”

“Don’t be like that, you know your father loves you,” she says, an unmistakable sadness in her eyes.

“Yes, mother,” he says, not sure why he doesn’t sound very confident in himself. 

“Listen to me,” she says, using her hand that isn’t clutching his own to cup his cheek and force him to look at her once more. “None of this is your fault. Your father, as usual, is being dramatic - Merlin, he didn’t even want you to go to Hogwarts in the first place, so I’m not sure why he’s so obsessed with what house you’re in.”

He nods stiffly. Taking his hands, his mother pulls gently to get him to stand and then she pulls him towards her. Letting go of his hands, she places them on either side of his head and places a kiss on his forehead. He leans into the touch, having missed his mother’s affection more than he cares to admit. 

When she pulls away, she’s smiling at him softly, an expression Draco knows the public never have and never will see, it’s a smile full of tenderness that’s reserved exclusively for him and his father.

“He  _ will  _ come around, I promise,” she says but he’s not sure he believes her - his father is nothing if not set in his ways.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly after a pause because he’s really not sure what else to say. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she replies, “now eat your breakfast and tell me how your first term at Hogwarts  _ really  _ went.”

* * *

Harry has always spent his Christmas with his family and this year is no different. As great as spending it at Hogwarts sounded, he missed Remus and Sirius. Talking through the mirror is great, but nowhere near the same as seeing them face to face.

The idea of not seeing his friends that he’s seen almost everyday since September wasn’t something he was fond of. However, it turned out that that was something he needn’t have worried about. Mr and Mrs Weasley were going to Romania to visit their eldest son, Charlie; originally that meant that Ron and his brothers would have been staying at Hogwarts over Christmas, but apparently Sirius had kept in contact with Molly after their meeting at King’s Cross and had offered to have them over the holidays. 

And Hermione, well Hermione doesn’t live very far away at all. Having not known she was a witch during their primary school years lead to Harry having to come up with excuses as to why she couldn’t come to visit, but now she knows all about the wizarding world she can come over as often as her parents allow. 

The first time her parents drop her off, he watches her awe-struck face as she sees the house emerge from between number eleven and thirteen for the first time. Remus, as one of the primary Secret Keepers, had had to go meet her outside to actually pass on the secret so she could enter the house - Harry had tagged along purely to watch her reaction. 

“What sort of magic is that?” she asks, eyes bright and face full of wonder. 

“It’s a Fidelius Charm,” Remus explains, “it conceals a secret inside a single, living soul - or in our case, three living souls. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret Keeper, and is henceforth impossible to find — unless, of course, the Secret Keeper chooses to divulge it.”

“So if a Secret Keeper tells someone else do they become a Secret Keeper too?” Hermione asks curiously as they enter the house.

“Technically, people such as yourself and Harry are known as Secondary Secret Keepers, meaning you know the secret but are unable to pass it on yourselves.”

“Is it a very difficult spell to successfully cast?”

“It’s  _ immensely  _ complex, the only person I’ve ever known to successfully cast it has been Dumbledore himself.” 

They continue to talk about the ins and outs of the charm that protects their house from any sort of threat but Harry stops listening, he’s heard it all before. Leaving them to it, he goes straight back to the drawing room - they’re so deep in conversation he doubts they even notice his absence. 

Everyone is just as he’d left them apart from Sirius has taken his seat opposite Ron to continue the game of wizards chess they’d been playing. Sirius’ favourite Queen record is spinning around on the turntable and Fred and George look like they can’t decide between investigating that or the TV. Percy, on the other hand, is curled up in an armchair by the window, reading the Prophet and not really speaking to anyone, however he doesn’t doubt that’ll change now that Hermione’s here. 

Walking over to Sirius and Ron, he goes to pull another chair up but Sirius pats the arm of the armchair he’s sat on and Harry perches on that instead, beginning to assess how much progress they've made with their game. 

“You’re not very good at this,” he observes, eyeing the lack of chess pieces on Sirius’ side of the board.

“Yeah, he’s just as awful as you are,” Ron replies cheerily, then look up from the board to ask, “I thought you and Remus went out to let Hermione in?”

“I did, they’re downstairs talking about spells,” Harry explains and Ron rolls his eyes dramatically. 

Hands still cold and hair still wet from the small amount of time he’d spent outside, Harry teams up with Sirius in an attempt to beat Ron at chess. Unlike at Hogwarts, there’s no snow in London, Remus had told him they’d had a snow storm at the start of the month but that had all melted within the week. Now, instead of crisp white snowflakes, heavy rain patters against the window rhythmically in a way Harry’s more than accustomed to. Multiple lumos charms have been suspended in the air around the room and next to the buzzing TV the fire is lit, crackling away softly and adding an element of warmth to the whole room. 

A few minutes later Hermione and Remus join them, Remus settling back down on the sofa with his book, whilst Hermione mimics Harry’s position, perching on the arm of Ron’s chair to observe their game. 

“Ron, where’s Scabbers?” Hermione asks not long after sitting down. 

“Dunno, haven’t seen him since we got here. He does that sometimes, just disappears for a few weeks,” he says blandly, not looking up from the board. 

For a few seconds Hermione looks at him, bewildered and slightly upset by this response before responding, “That’s not very responsible of you.” 

Ron shrugs, “What do you expect me to do about it?” 

Hermione lets out an exasperated huff and seems to decide arguing isn’t worth the effort, turning back to the board to watch the match they all know Ron is going to win. 

After some time Harry gets bored of the chess game and takes another look around the drawing room. Remus had clearly let Sirius pick the Christmas tree as it’s rather too tall for the room and the top of it bends where it reaches the ceiling, leaving no place for a star. Sirius is probably also the reason they hadn’t bothered to shrink it to make it fit better, if Harry is remembering correctly he thinks he heard him say something about it having more character this way. The usual red and gold decorations are joined by a variety of greens and yellows, which definitely clash but Harry appreciates the very unsubtle gesture nonetheless. 

The only colour missing is blue and with that thought Harry is back to thinking about the one person he’s been trying not to. Not that he knows  _ why  _ he keeps thinking about Malfoy, it's not exactly intentional. He tried to get them expelled; there's absolutely  _ no  _ reason he should feel bad for him in any way. 

Except he does. So now he’s sat wondering if he should send him something for Christmas. He hasn’t bothered to mention his dilemma to Ron or Hermione because after the incident with the three-headed dog they hadn’t been at all keen on Harry continuing to try and befriend him. Of course, Ron had never been on board with it in the first place but now that Hermione agrees with him; it’s two against one.

They’ve told him to leave Malfoy alone, that he hadn’t been worth it in the first place and they don't understand why Harry still cares. Despite this, his words from the first time they met in Madam Malkin’s keep running through his mind. 

_ “I know I’ll be in Slytherin, all our family have been.” _

He’d been so,  _ so  _ certain just as Ron had been that he’d be in Gryffindor. Although Ron’s not as upset about it anymore Harry can tell it’s still something that bugs him, but Ron’s had a supportive family to reassure him that there’s nothing wrong with being in a different house. He’s had the same from Remus and Sirius - Andromeda of course, had been delighted. Did Malfoy even have that? He has no way of actually knowing, which he thinks is what’s getting to him the most.

He’s actually heard quite a bit about the Malfoys in the past couple months. On multiple occasions Pansy has gotten onto the topic of her childhood, seemingly unable to  _ not  _ talk about herself . Harry doesn't think it's much of a stretch to assume Malfoy had the same experience as Pansy - completely spoilt and doted on. In fact, the few times she'd let something about the Malfoys slip into conversation gives Harry the idea he's more spoilt than even Pansy seems to be. 

His mother’s a Black and he can’t help but compare the situation Malfoy must be in to Sirius’ own childhood. The difference being that Sirius hates his family and their ideals, meanwhile Malfoy has repeatedly shown that he aligns himself with the same beliefs as his parents. Once again, he thinks back to their encounter in Madam Malkin’s:

_ “I really don’t think they should let the other sort in, do you?” _

The  _ other sort _ unquestionably being Muggleborns like Hermione. Somehow, knowing that he believes the same outdated ideals his family makes Harry feel even more sorry for him. Whereas Sirius had never agreed with or respected his parents in the first place, Malfoy seems to have the same prejudices as his parents and a lot of the Slytherins he knows. Sirius had been overjoyed to be sorted into Gryffindor, to be recognised for the fact he wasn’t like the rest of his awful family. Malfoy hasn’t shown any obvious signs of disliking the house he was sorted into since the day of the sorting itself, not any that Harry’s been able to pick up anyway, Malfoy’s been just as much of a git as he was the first time they met. But still, Harry can’t seem to shake the utter horror on his face when the hat shouted Ravenclaw, and although he seems cocky and confident he swears his malicious smiles never quite reach his eyes.

Harry thinks back to his own sorting. He didn’t want to be sorted into Slytherin, it was the worst possible option, yet it happened anyway. Afterwards he’d felt awful, as if Sirius was going to hate him forever. 

Whilst Sirius hadn’t  _ hated  _ him, there was still an awkward tension that hung in the air every time they spoke in the mirror for a good few weeks despite the fact he’d told him on the very first day it didn’t matter. He can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like for Malfoy.

The dilemma goes on in his head for the whole time he, Ron and Hermione exchange presents. Then it continues after Hermione leaves and then into the evening. Pattering rain is replaced with the howling of wind but the windows are still covered in tiny little raindrops, being blown across the glass panes. 

Fred, George and Sirius are watching some obscure Muggle show Harry doesn’t think he recognises; Percy has swapped the Prophet for some book about the ministry and Remus has subjected himself to a game of wizards chess against Ron, unaware of the fact that everyone else in the room has begun refusing to play against him. 

They’re all too involved in what they’re doing to notice when Harry sneaks out of the drawing room, doing his best to quietly walk up the many flights of creaky stairs to get to his room, where Hedwig sits on her perch, sleeping with her head tucked under her wing. 

“Hey girl,” he says, running the back of his hand down her soft feathers until she blinks up at him with her wide eyes, “you up for a journey tonight?”

She doesn’t make a noise of protest like she usually would if she was too tired, so he takes that as a yes. Ripping a section of paper out of one of his notebooks, he takes out a pen and scribbles something small on it. Once he’s attached it to her leg with a scrap piece of string she stands waiting for his instruction. 

“I need you to take that to Draco Malfoy, okay?”

He can’t be any more specific than that because he doesn’t know anything about where the Malfoy family live apart from that it’s a manor, but he assumes Hedwig does as she moves towards the window, waiting for him to let her out. 

“Good thing it’s not raining,” he says as he’s hit with the sudden chill from outside. She hoots at him once before taking off into the night, feathers glowing white against the pitch black sky above London.

* * *

Draco wakes the next morning to a repetitive tapping on the window. 

For anyone else getting up to see a peacock in your room would probably be something very odd, but for Draco it’s normal. Most of the year they’re not allowed inside the manor, but it’s often too cold for them in winter so they’re permitted to come inside if they so wish. He squints at where he’s decided to perch on the end of his bed and sighs as he realises he’d left the door open last night.

“Aphrodite, you’re not supposed to be in here,” he says but the bird barely acknowledges him, instead starting to get comfortable on his bed covers.

He attempts to push him off but Aphrodite goes for his fingers and he decides it’s probably better to leave him to it. Since Aphrodite is inside he clearly isn’t the source of the noise, so pulling back the covers, he walks over to the window. When he draws the curtains he’s met with a snowy owl so pure white it almost blends in with the snow.

He blinks at it and it blinks back, if he isn’t mistaken it looks  _ annoyed.  _

“Are you…?” he trails off but now the thoughts come to him he knows he’s right.

This is  _ Potter’s  _ owl. 

He lets her in and Artemis ruffles her feathers in irritation at the presence of  _ another  _ owl in the room. 

“Oh, shut up, I’m not replacing you,” he tells her.

Now he’s got two owls glaring at him and he begins to feel a little uneasy. He turns back to the owl he’s just let in, eyeing the note messily rolled up and attached to it’s leg with a bit of brown string.

Untying the knot, he slowly unravels the paper, not yet feeling completely awake. The paper isn’t parchment; it’s thin, flimsy and ruled with neat, evenly spaced lines - it’s the paper  _ Muggles  _ use, he notes with mild disgust. In the centre, in scribbled, untidy handwriting it simply reads:

_ merry christmas  _

_ from harry  _

It’s more of a note than a letter and there’s a crudely drawn Christmas tree in the corner. Draco stares at it dumbfounded, not sure what to think about it. Potter hasn’t spoken to him since he’d made up that bullshit about a duel and set Filch on him in an effort to get him to leave him alone. Granted, that was exactly what he’d wanted, but it was also odd to not have Potter giving him unsolicited smiles across classrooms and corridors when it was what he was used to. 

He stares at the note for a little longer, it’s just another feeble attempt to befriend him from Potter’s part and he isn’t giving into it, it’s not even like he put effort into it for Merlin’s sake. 

No, it doesn’t mean anything and he doesn’t care about it. Why on earth was Potter being so persistent in the first place? He’d rejected his offer of friendship before they’d even gotten to Hogwarts - and rather rudely at that. 

Potter - the damn saint he is - clearly feels  _ sorry  _ for him, that’s all. It’s just pity and Malfoy’s are  _ not  _ pitiful. 

He’s debating on what to do with the pathetic piece of paper when the snowy owl begins to peck at his hand. Startled, he yanks his hand out of the way of it’s sharp beak and looks up to glare at it. Artemis hoots angrily from the corner but doesn’t do much else -  _ useless bastard _ . 

“What do you want?” he hisses at it and the owl raises the leg the letter had been attached to, poking him in the arm with it.

“What on earth-”

Then it hits him.

“You want me to  _ reply  _ to him?” he asks incredulously.

If owls can nod that’s certainly what it does. He stares at it in disbelief. Surely not, it was ridiculous enough that Potter had sent him  _ anything  _ at all in the first place, Draco’s just glad it wasn’t anything substantial because then he really wouldn’t know how to feel. Folding the note up, he opens the top drawer and places it in an empty corner. 

The owl pecks him again.

“Alright, alright, I’m doing it, leave me be,” he says, doing his best to swat it away without actually hitting it. 

Pulling out a small section of parchment from the same drawer he’d just put the note in, he picks up a quill and writes a response no less lackluster than the letter he’d received: 

_ Potter,  _

_ Merry Christmas, _

_ Malfoy  _

_ p.s. The only reason I’m responding _

_ is because your stupid owl kept pecking me, _

_ maybe consider going to joint lessons for your _

_ awful manners.  _

Rolling it up with a lot more care than Potter had bothered with, he ties it to the owls leg with the same string Potter had used. Satisfied, it moves to the window and waits for him to let it out. He does, watching until it’s white feathers blend in with the snow so much that he can’t make them out anymore.

* * *

On Christmas morning Harry wakes up to Ron shaking him. When he opens his eyes Ron, Fred and George are standing at the end of his bed grinning at him.

“Happy Christmas,” Ron says, still sounding half asleep.

“Happy Christmas, Harry,” the twins chorus together, sounding a lot more awake than Harry feels.

“Merry Christmas," Harry replies groggily, before asking, "wait, why are you in here?”

“Wanted to come wake Ronniekins up,” says Fred. 

“Actually, we tried to go bother Percy first, but he’s locked us out of his room,” adds George.

"That doesn't explain why you're in here."

"Ron wanted to come wake you up," says George. 

"We wanted to scare you but Ron wouldn't let us," Fred says, looking put out at this. 

After Harry’s clambered out of bed and put his dressing gown on, the four of them make their way to the drawing room. Remus is already awake, the smooth sound of jazz coming from the turntable whilst he reads on the sofa. He must have heard their footsteps coming down the stairs as he’s already looking at the doorway when they enter. 

“Merry Christmas,” he says, smiling at the four of them.

Harry’s about to ask where Sirius is but as he walks further into the room he notices a large black dog curled up on a blanket in front of the fire. Sirius has never given him a straight answer as to why he just wanders around the house in his animagus form sometimes but Harry guesses he can see the benefits - after all, who doesn’t just want to be a dog sometimes?

Presents are piled under the tree and from what Harry can see there’s no particular order to where they’re placed - meaning Remus had gotten Sirius to do it.

“We have to wait for everyone to start opening anything,” Remus tells them as he catches Ron reaching for a parcel that he’s seen has his name on. 

Fred and George sigh simultaneously and give each other a look before bellowing, “Percy!” 

There’s a few banging sounds from upstairs and a few minutes later a tired looking Percy appears in the doorway. 

“Merry Christm-” he breaks off as he yawns, taking a seat next to the twins on the sofa. 

The second Percy sits down Harry and Ron start reaching for parcels, reading labels and handing them out to whoever they’re addressed to. 

When almost all the presents under the tree are gone and wrapping paper lays disregarded around them, the seven of them each have their own small pile of presents along with a knitted jumper from Mrs Weasley. Ron complains about his being maroon, Fred and George tease Percy about the P on his standing for Prefect before forcing him to put it on and Sirius barks out a laugh at the black dog across the front of his own.

There’s only one parcel left and Harry waits as Ron picks it up and reads the label.

“It’s for you Harry,” he says, handing it over.

He unwraps it and something fluid and silvery grey slithers onto his knees and then to the floor, where it lies in gleaming folds. Ron gasps and so do the twins.

“Is that a… ?” Fred starts. 

“Invisibility Cloak,” Sirius says smugly and they all turn to look at him, “ go on Harry, put it on.” 

So Harry does, picking up the shining, silvery cloth - so oddly resembling water in it’s fluidity - and throws it around his shoulders. More gasps follow - including Percy this time. 

Harry looks at the wide eyes of the Weasley brothers before looking down at his feet only to find he can’t see them anymore. He’s heard about invisibility cloaks before just like he assumes Ron and his brothers have, but everything he’s read has lead him to believe they’re incredibly rare. 

He looks to Remus and Sirius, who are both smiling at him fondly, something oddly sad in both of their faces. 

“Where did you get this?” he asks.

“It was your fathers…” Sirius begins but then trails off, the smile on his face looking pained before he turns away.

Remus wraps an arm around Sirius, taking one of his hands in his own before continuing for him, “this cloak has been passed down through generations of your family, it was given to your father by his father, who was gifted it by his own father and so on. We see no reason then, as to why he wouldn’t have then given it to you to hold up the tradition.”

“Why are you only giving it to me now?” 

“Ah, you see, the night your… The night your parents...” he trails off like Sirius had. 

“Dumbledore still had it,” Sirius picks up, irritation seeming to spark life in him once more, “but the old git didn’t see fit to tell us that until a couple months ago when he actually gave it back.”

“Now, you know Dumbledore had Harry’s best interest in-”

“Bollocks! Fuck his best interests, it’s  _ rightfully  _ his, Remus,” Sirius bursts out, not quite shouting but close. 

“Yes, well, he’s got it now so that doesn’t matter,” Remus replies carefully.

After noticing the five pairs of eyes staring at him Sirius seems to remember himself, anger fading quickly from his face.

“Yeah, I s’pose, he said something about not wanting you to have it until you started at Hogwarts. Something else about your safety and not getting into trouble. I don’t see how giving to you  _ after _ you’ve started wizarding school is any safer than giving it to you before though.”

“It’s not like he’s taking it to Hogwarts with him,” Remus says sternly. 

“Oh, of course not,” Sirius replies but he gives Harry a look that means he most definitely will be taking it back to Hogwarts with him no matter what Remus says or does. 

***

They’re half way through the second week of the holidays and Hermione is back again. When Harry opens the door he's met with an expression of pure resolve. 

“Where’s this library you’ve told me all about then?” she asks with determination and Ron had rolls his eyes. 

Harry, on the other hand, has been waiting for her to ask. She’d been over a couple of times since the afternoon of Christmas Eve and had yet to actually enquire about the whereabouts of the Black family library.

“It’s the holiday, do we  _ have  _ to read books?” Ron asks, clearly opposed to this idea already. 

“We still have to find out who Nicolas Flamel is and I bet the Black family library will have a lot of books Hogwarts doesn’t,” she tells him as they follow Harry up the first set of stairs. 

When he enters the drawing room, he pauses as he realises that Ron and Hermione aren’t right behind him anymore. He turns to see they’re both stood in the doorway, staring at him oddly. 

“I thought we were going to the library,” Ron says. 

“We are,” Harry replies simply as he walks over to the fireplace. 

If he’s honest, he’s been rather looking forward to showing them the library if only because of what you have to do to enter it. Hermione, of course, will appreciate the books even if Ron doesn’t, but there’s no way he can deny that this is cool. 

He walks towards the fire place, on the mantelpiece there’s a variety of things he’s not sure have been touched since they’d moved in. These things include multiple types of questionable skulls that now remind Harry of the Slytherin common room; ancient potions bottles filled with god knows what; and incredibly expensive looking vases filled with long ago dried out asphodels and lilies. On each end there’s two intricately detailed candelabras, multiple metal snakes wrapped around each of them, glistening emeralds embedded in the metal in place of where their eyes should be as well as running directly down the centre of their backs. 

“Ron, go over to that one, will you?” he says, pointing to the one of the left whilst he goes over to the one on the right.

Ron does as Harry tells him while Hermione takes a few tentative steps closer, watching with intrigue. As Harry grabs onto the candelabra on the right, Ron follows suit. 

“When I say so, turns yours clockwise,” Harry tells him and Ron nods to say he understands what to do. 

Harry mentally counts down in his head, focusing on the texture carved into the cold metal under his hands - if he doesn’t concentrate this won’t work at all. 

“Now,” he instructs, turning his candelabra in the opposite direction Ron turns his whilst doing his best to very clearly picture the library he’s spent so much time in. 

There’s a few loud clicking sounds and an almost unbearable scraping, then the fire, that’s constantly burning due to various enchantments placed upon it centuries ago, dies down leaving the space empty and baron. 

Except it’s not - because right at the back is a door that’s smaller than any normal door. Any average sized person would have to crouch at least a little to get through it but it’s conveniently almost the exact right size for an average eleven year old. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you have a secret room in your house?” Ron asks, sounding genuinely offended.

“Didn’t want to spoil the surprise."

Harry opens the door, which creaks on its old hinges as it opens to reveal a small hint at what lies beyond it. He walks through the doorway easily, as does Hermione. Ron is the only one of them that has to duck just the smallest bit to not hit his head on the frame. 

“It’s rather small,” is the first thing Hermione says. 

It  _ is  _ small, at least for a library anyway. The Black family library is only marginally bigger than the drawing room it’s connected to. There’s a walkway down the centre of the room and on either side are multiple rows of dark mahogany shelves, carved with details that even after hours spent in here Harry can’t describe due to the sheer complexity of them. Books, old and new fill every section of the shelves possible. Floorboards the same shade as the shelves cover the floor, coming up in places - a problem that could easily be solved with magic but no one has ever bothered to fix. Remus had mentioned it once, but Harry had said he thought it added character to the room and they’d left it at that.

Up and down either side of the room, between each set of shelves, is a singular, arched window with wrought iron patterns snaking over the glass. There is no view out of any of the windows, but still what seems like sunlight shines through, filling the room with vaguely yellow sunlight. It changes at the same time as the light outside would, getting dark at night and requiring them to light the candles that are dotted around the room, but neither Remus nor Sirius have been able to work out exactly how the magic works, all they can assume is that it’s similar to the ceiling of the great hall at Hogwarts.

At the end of the walkway the room opens out to a small area, the wall at the back is lined with even more bookshelves crammed full of books whilst either side of the walls have even more arched windows. In the centre is a dark green leather sofa, facing the window on the right where the matching armchair sits. In between them is a tarnished golden coffee table with a glass top, allowing you to see the rug underneath that covers the whole open area, what were once probably bright colours faded with age. Yet even more books are piled on top of the small table as well as the one on the opposite side of the room, pressed up against the window on the right. A rejected game of wizards chess sits in between the books and the armchairs on either side of the table haven’t been tucked back into where they should be.

Now he’s back here he’s starting to understand why he’d gotten used to the Slytherin Dungeons so quickly. 

“The size doesn’t matter,” he says smugly and she looks at him questioningly, “think of any book you want, absolutely  _ any  _ book.”

“Ok,” she replies uncertainly, but closes her eyes anyway and Harry waits for her to open them again, “now what?”

“Now,” he says, walking down the walkway and straight over to the large bookcase at the back of the room, “pick any book from this bookcase.”

Once again, she does as he says and out of the corner of his eye he sees Ron moving the books off the table by the window and arranging the game of wizards chess. 

Hermione’s expression is one of awe. As she runs her fingers across the many books on the shelf, she eventually settles on one and pulls it off. 

Flipping it open, she stares in amazement at the pages in front of her. 

“This is  _ brilliant, _ ” she exclaims, voice quiet but full of excitement, “ how does it work?” 

“I’m er… Not actually sure,” he admits, “I just know it only works on this back shelf, the rest of them are all really bloody old and alphabetized by surname.”

“Well,” she says, pulling yet another book from the shelf, “let's get started then.”

Later that afternoon, Hermione sits crossed legged on the floor surrounded by piles and piles of books she’d thought could be even the slightest bit relevant. Harry and Ron sit in the armchairs on either side of the table by the window. Despite Hermione’s protests they’d given up searching a good couple hours ago and have been playing wizards chess ever since. 

“This is useless,” Hermione says, closing the book in her lap and letting out a defeated sigh.

“What is?” says Sirius and Harry looks up to see the black dog that had come in at some point that afternoon and curled up by his feet is once again his godfather.

He walks over to where Hermione sits surrounded by books and takes a look at a few of the ones on the top of the piles, “honestly, Remus is reading and wants me to leave him alone, so I come in here to keep an eye on you three and you’re all reading too.”

“Well me and Harry aren’t anymore,” Ron points out before ordering one of his knights to take yet another of Harry’s pawns. 

“You were for quite a while,” Sirius counters. “So tell me, what exactly are you trying to find?”

“We need to know who Nicolas Flamel is,” Harry says and Hermione glares at him from behind Sirius because he is most definitely doing something stupid. 

It might be a risk telling Sirius about what they’re looking for, but without the real context he’s hoping there will be no way for him to figure out what they’re doing, even if they do happen to know what’s going on at Hogwarts. 

Sirius furrows his brows, thinking for a moment. 

“The name does sound vaguely familiar,” he replies before narrowing his eyes at Harry, “ why do you need to know who Nicolas Flamel is?” 

“It’s for our History of Magic homework,” Ron pipes up. 

“Homework over Christmas?” Sirius makes a face and Harry worries he’s going to see right through them, but then he adds, “trust Professor Binns, I’m not even sure he has a concept of time anymore, you know.”

Harry and Ron laugh at that - Harry’s not even sure Professor Binns is completely aware of teaching his own lessons anymore, Pansy seems to think it’s entirely muscle memory, he’s definitely taught the lessons enough times. 

“Well, I can’t help you, but Remus might be able to,” Sirius says, walking down the centre of the shelves to the small door, “hang on, I’ll be back in a minute with the resident bookworm.” 

Less than a minute later he’s back with Remus in tow.

“Alright kids,” he says, clapping his hands together, “Sirius says you want to know something about Nicolas Flamel.”

“Anything really, you see, we’re not even sure who he is,” explains Hermione.

Until now Remus and Sirius have only met Hermione a few times, despite her being his best friend through most of primary school. The only time they really saw her was in the playground at the end of the day or picking him up from her parents' house. 

He knows Remus said he’d had a suspicion but Harry’s now wondering if there’s any possible way they could have known Hermione was a muggle-born. 

“Harry?” apparently he zoned out without realising because he looks up, startled. 

“Er, yeah?” 

Remus has a book open on the table next to his and Ron’s game of wizards chess, Harry quickly notices the top of the page is titled  _ Nicolas Flamel.  _ Hermione is perched on the arm of Ron’s chair so she can see too. 

“We’ve been looking in the  _ completely  _ wrong section,” Hermione tells him.

“It appears you have, why did you need to know this again?” Remus asks, raising an eyebrow slightly. 

“History of Magic homework,” he answers perhaps too automatically.

After giving Harry a look of suspicion, he fortunately lets it drop and begins reading out of the book on the table, telling them everything they needed to know about Nicolas Flamel and quite a bit more. 

When Remus finishes and the three of them are alone again they spend the rest of the afternoon discussing both what this information tells them and what they’d do with the Philosopher's Stone if they had it themselves. Hermione isn’t so keen on this second topic but Ron and Harry excitedly talk about all the incredibly expensive things they could buy up until Kreacher appears and tells them dinner is ready. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed please consider leaving kudos or a comment!


	9. Beasts and Bribery

On the first day back Harry had gone roaming the corridors in the black of night with his Invisibility Cloak. He’d felt kind of bad for not listening to Remus but what else did they expect him to do after giving him an  _ Invisibility Cloak? _

That night he’d found the Mirror of Erised. Although he didn’t find out it was called that until the third day of visiting the abandoned classroom. Not until after he’d spent countless hours looking at his own parents' faces smiling back at him along with the rest of the family he’d never met. 

On the second night he’d brought Ron with him to prove to himself it wasn’t just a figment of his imagination, but all that had achieved was confusing the situation even more as Ron described how he’d seen himself in the mirror. Hearing Ron say he saw himself in Gryffindor didn’t sit right with Harry and he’d spent the whole of the next day feeling bad for bringing his friend with him.

Now, as he walks back to the dungeons, the silvery fabric of the cloak wrapped tightly around him and Dumbledore’s words fresh in his mind, he’s not sure how to feel. Of course he wants his family alive and here with him, that’s only natural, but he  _ has  _ a family. Remus and Sirius are his family; Andromeda, Ted and Dora are his family. Not to mention Hagrid, who’s basically like a third father to him. He feels  _ guilty  _ and he doesn’t understand, because he’s lucky to have the family he has, to have been raised by such wonderful people. So why when he looks into that stupid mirror does he see the thing he can’t have, the thing he’s not actually sure would make him happier than what he already has?

His parents faces smiling back at him, comforting just hours before now haunt him and he no longer finds the idea of not going back to the mirror hard to accept - he never wants to see it again. 

Then the nightmares start. Over and over and  _ over.  _ His parents disappearing, their screams of anguish, a cruel, high pitched laugh and then flashes of green light. 

Oh, there was green, so  _ much  _ green. 

Then he’d wake up in a cold sweat surrounded by  _ green,  _ he’d get up in the morning, get dressed in  _ green,  _ walk into a common room full of  _ green  _ and spend his whole day surrounded by students dressed in the same damn  _ green.  _

He’s glad he doesn’t have friends in his dormitory to pay too much attention and notice how he wakes up with bloodshot eyes and a tearstained pillow, how he jolts awake in the middle of the night or how he flinches at everything in the morning as he’s getting ready because he isn’t awake properly. 

Or maybe they do notice, maybe they see it all and  _ just don’t care.  _ Harry tells himself he doesn’t care either, doesn’t dare to dwell on how different it would have been if he and Ron were in the same house, or even Hermione, who would have noticed immediately in the morning something was wrong, before he has a chance to force himself to cheer up like he has to every morning to stop Pansy from saying anything. To stop her from asking questions he doesn’t want to answer, questions Hermione wouldn’t have to ask because she’d just  _ know. _

It takes a week for Harry to finally tell Ron and Hermione about these dreams. 

“You see, Dumbledore was right, the mirror can drive you mad,” says Ron and Harry has to resist flinching at the mention of the mirror to stop them from worrying anymore. 

At first Hermione was caught up on being horrified that Harry had been out of bed, roaming the school three nights in a row but then Harry had started talking about the dreams he’s been having and her attitude changed completely. 

The only positive was that they’re all still riding the high of actually finding out who Nicolas Flamel is. However, now they know they’re not sure what to do next - at least Snape wanting to find the Philosopher's Stone made sense but they’ve still got no idea how to get past Fluffy. 

After telling Ron and Hermione the dreams become easier to deal with but they don’t disappear and things just seem to get worse with the approaching Quidditch match against Ravenclaw. If Harry’s honest he can’t say he’s looking forward to it considering how the last match went. 

Flint’s working the team harder than before Christmas, constantly bringing up how they’ve got to keep up with Wood, which Harry really doesn’t understand since they’ve already played Gryffindor and  _ won,  _ not to mention they’re in the lead in both the Quidditch league and the overall house cup. Although, no matter how soaked through he is with rain by the end of a training session he doesn’t complain like the others do, he can’t, not when being completely knackered helps to ease off his nightmares. 

With the help of Ron and Hermione being aware of his dreams and the ridiculously tiring training, the excessive green that surrounded his daily life slowly became bearable again. 

When George tells Harry Snape’s refereeing the match he doesn’t think much of it. When Harry tells them about Snape refereeing the match, there’s an uproar. The two are still convinced he was the once bewitching Harry’s broom during his first match, but he reminds them once again that that makes no sense whatsoever since that would mean he was sabotaging his houses team. 

“Don’t play Harry, it’s not safe,” Hermione tells him.

“She’s right mate, say you’re ill or something,” Ron adds. 

“ _ No,”  _ he says sternly, “I’m playing and you two can’t stop me.” 

The match goes fine, in fact it goes  _ great.  _

“That’s the fastest I’ve seen anyone catch a Snitch,” Flint tells him once they’re back on the ground.

“Yeah, it’s got to be a record or something, I haven’t even seen a Snitch caught that quick in a professional match,” George adds and Harry thinks he’s probably exaggerating but still beams whilst the Ravenclaw team glares at them from across the pitch. 

The thrill of winning the match stays with him for the rest of the day, all thought relating to his nightmares or the Philosopher's Stone gone from his head. That is until he’s putting his Nimbus Two Thousand back in the broomshed. 

A hooded figure that can’t be anyone other than Snape comes swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Harry watches as he sneaks down into the forest and lets out a sigh under his breath before gets back on his Nimbus Two Thousand. 

Ron and Hermione would kill him if he didn’t use this opportunity to try and find out once and for all what he’s up to…

* * *

“Have you managed to befriend Potter?” his father had asked over dinner on Christmas day.

Internally, he’d panicked. Externally, he hadn’t so much as flinched as he’d answered, “Yes I have, father.”

This, of course, was a filthy lie, but the way he sees it, there's no way for his father to find that out. On top of that, his lie had paid off as his father had raised his brows in surprise, making a noise of approval, “Good,  _ very  _ good, what’s he like?”

His mother placed her knife and fork carefully down to take a sip of wine as she ardently ignored the conversation between him and his father. What is Potter like? Potter is, first and foremost, an absolute pain. He’s in the house Draco should be in, Pansy clings to him like a leech and the only Slytherin quality he has is his everlasting persistence. The sincerity in the lopsided smiles Potter gives him makes him want to pull his own hair out and, speaking of hair, the sight of Potter’s upsets him on more levels than he can name. 

“He’s no different than any of the other first years,” Draco had told him, because apart from how much he’d irritated Draco that term he really wasn’t.

“I’m sure I needn't remind you not to get too attached?” his father had questioned. 

“No, father.”

“But do try and find out as much as you can about him.”

“Yes, father.” 

That was the first and last time his father had mentioned Potter over Christmas and he’d tried to put the conversation to the back of his mind. However, the letter he’d gotten that morning, followed by the conversation with his father led to him thinking about Potter a lot more than he’d wanted t0.

Despite what he’d told his father, when the school starts again he continues his streak of not being Potter’s friend. Draco’s catches his eye a few times in classes, in the Great Hall and in the corridors but without asking there’s no way for him to know  _ why  _ Potter had sent him that note or if he’d even ended up getting Draco’s reply. 

He won’t bring himself to talk to him, convinces himself he doesn’t  _ want  _ to talk to him. It’s just some stupid note that’s part of Potter’s stupid plan to try and be his friend, which is something he doesn’t want at all. Except it  _ is  _ something his father wants and he tells himself that’s the only reason he considers it every now and then.

By the time Easter rolls around he’s convinced himself he doesn’t give a single shit about Harry Potter and his stupid note. Tells himself that when Terry jabs him in the ribs to bring him back to reality he doesn’t more often than not realise he’s been yet again thinking about Potter.

So, when he walks past Potter and his friends on his way to the Ravenclaw table he tells himself he overheard what they were saying by chance and not because he was paying extra attention. 

“Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?” the Weasley boy asks them in what was likely intended to be a whisper. 

Draco stops dead in his tracks. 

Did he say  _ dragon?  _ Well now, that  _ is  _ interesting, he takes a few steps closer as the three of them have yet to notice he’s there at all. 

“We’ve got lessons, we’ll get into trouble, and that’s nothing compared to what Hagrid’s going to be in when someone finds out what he’s hiding,” Hermione hisses. 

She’s not wrong, if that great oaf really  _ does  _ have a dragon’s egg, he’s breaking several wizarding laws that could get him thrown in Azkaban if he’s not careful. For a second he considers whether it’d be worth mentioning it to his father, but quickly decides against it. Investigating himself sounds a lot more interesting.

“Shut up!” Potter hisses and suddenly all three of them are looking directly at him. 

He smirks, enjoying the horror that dawns on their faces before he continues to the Ravenclaw table.

“I know he’s our saviour or whatever but you do spend an awful lot of time paying attention to Potter,” Terry points out as he takes a seat in between him and Corner.

Draco scowls at him. 

“He’s right, it’s a little creepy, you know,” Rivers adds and Draco turns to him, eyes narrowed. 

“No one asked for your input,  _ Mudblood, _ ” he sneers, the words rolling easily off his tongue. 

Silence falls around the group of Ravenclaws that are close enough to have heard him, he can see Goldstein glaring at him and he can feel Terry and Corner doing the same on his either side. 

“Is that supposed to be an insult?” he asks. 

Everyone around them continues to stare in shock, but Rivers just laughs, seemingly unphased. This isn’t an abnormal conversation for the two of them, although Draco has tried to lay off the serious insults up until now. 

“Didn’t think you’d pick up a single book about the wizarding world before you came here?” Draco questions, leveling the other boy with a look, “just thought you’d be able to pick it all up as soon as you got here, eh?”

Rivers stares at him blankly for a few seconds before breaking out into a grin again, having probably noticed Draco’s clenched jaw and white knuckles.

“Draco, you really shouldn’t use that word, you’ll get in trouble,” Terry warns him but Draco just huffs, getting more and more irritated by Rivers lack of negative reaction by the second. 

“Maybe if you’d done your research you would have learnt people like  _ you  _ aren’t welcome in our world,” he says coldy before standing up once again and walking out of the Great Hall, pocketing the sweets his mother had sent him and leaving the food on his plate untouched. 

***

Having left for class early, Draco is the first to Herbology. The Ravenclaws have Herbology with the Slytherins so once the rest of the class arrives and he’s mostly calmed down he decides it’s in his best interest to pay as close attention to Potter as he can. Granted, it’s not really important until the lesson’s over but he doesn’t see any harm in making sure he doesn’t miss anything. Besides, Terry isn’t talking to him so he has to find some way to entertain himself - Herbology for first years really isn’t very interesting since they won’t let them handle anything even remotely dangerous. 

As soon as the bell sounds Draco watches as Potter immediately drops his trowel and rushes out of the greenhouse. He waits a few short seconds before following close behind, he debates being sneaky and trying not to get noticed at all but then he has a better idea. 

“Potter,” he greets, instantly putting on his usual apathetic persona, snark dripping from his voice. 

Potter turns around sharply, eyes wide in surprise. The reaction must have been down to shock more than anything else because he quickly changes, narrowing his eyes at him. 

“What do you want, Malfoy?” there’s no hint of any of the kindness he’d shown him before and Draco would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t the slightest bit offended. 

It’s fine, it’s not like he’s intending this to be a polite exchange anyway. 

“I’ve come to see this so called dragon that’s supposed to be hatching,” he says in the most drawling voice he can muster.

Harry glares at him, turning around and continuing in the direction he was headed before. Not giving up so easily, Draco increases his stride slightly to catch up before falling instep beside him. 

“Sod off,” Harry tells him. 

“Why would I do that?” 

“Because we’re not even friends.”

“Now, who told you that?” 

“ _ You  _ did, you’re not coming, you just want an opportunity to be a good little snitch,” Potter responds and Draco shouldn’t be having this much fun with this but after the way his morning’s gone so far he really is. 

“I see you haven’t taken my advice in regards to your manners, but I’m going to offer you a deal: you either let me come with you or I write a nice little letter to my father telling him all about this illegal dragon being kept on the Hogwarts grounds?”

Potter stops dead in his tracks, but when he looks at Draco he doesn’t look angry like he expected, there’s something reproachful in his eyes.

“How do I know we can trust you?”

“Because I'm a man of my word,” Potter actually  _ laughs  _ at that and Draco scowls. 

“You're not a man, you're eleven and last time we made a deal you set us up,” Harry points out.

Draco doesn’t understand why he doesn’t look worried and all of a sudden he’s not so sure about the direction this is going in anymore. Although Potter's not  _ wrong,  _ he’s not even sure if they’d gotten caught last time, it’s not like there’s a way for him to check which students have detentions or not without actually asking them. 

He and Weasley  _ had  _ looked pretty happy in the Great Hall the next morning though, so he’s assuming they somehow managed to avoid Filch. 

“Listen Potter, you either let me come and risk me telling on you or you don’t let me come and I tell anyway, so what is it?” 

Harry sighs in what seems like exasperation before he begins walking again.

“Alright, but it’s not my fault if Ron punches you,” he calls behind him. 

***

“What the  _ fuck  _ is he doing here?” Ron almost shouts when they come to meet Potter and find out Draco’s with him.

“Language, Ron!” scolds Hermione. 

“Who are you, my mother?” he snaps back.

“As nice as it is to hear you quarrel,” Draco interrupts and then all the attention is once again on him, “I’m sure if we don’t get a move on we’ll miss this dragon hatching.”

“Harry! Why did you tell him?” Hermione says shrilly, sounding very much like a disappointed mother.

“I  _ didn’t _ , he overheard us this morning over breakfast,” Harry replies defensively, “and I only let him come because he threatened to tell someone if I didn’t.”

***

The supposed dragon turns out to be very real and a bloody dangerous one at that. 

The atmosphere in the room is strange. Draco has no doubt that it’s because of him but he can’t find it within him to care; he’s just seen a bloody Norwegian Ridgeback hatch and Ron was right, it is indeed a once in a lifetime opportunity unless you intend to become a Magizoologist. Even then, it’s a pretty rare sight. 

Hagrid hadn’t wanted to let him in at first - no doubt just because he’s a Malfoy. Not that he’s offended by that, the great oaf  _ should  _ be worried about being in the presence of a Malfoy. It had taken some convincing on Potter’s part, who had elbowed Draco every time he’d tried to get a word in for himself. 

Vain as he is, Draco knows a fair bit about his namesake due to a mix of his own research in the manor’s library or the books his mother used to read him when he was little. Of course she’d read him the usual children’s books but as he got a bit older she’d taken to reading out of all sorts of books they had. His favourite was and still is a huge encyclopedia titled  _ Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland,  _ he vividly remembers studying the incredibly detailed illustrations closely whilst his mother read the content of each page to him. 

With all the information he can remember in the forefront of his mind, he tries his best to remember everything he can about the small, black dragon sat in front of them.

He’s broken out of his thoughts when the oddly proportioned thing sneezes. Draco flinches as a couple of sparks blow out of its nose but fortunately the other three are too busy staring at it with wide eyes to notice him. 

“Isn’t he  _ beautiful?”  _ Hagrid murmurs, reaching out a hand to stroke the dragon’s head. 

It snaps at his fingers, baring it’s sharp, pointed fangs and Draco’s very suddenly reminded that Norwegian Ridgebacks are  _ extremely  _ venomous. 

In regards to Hagrid’s observation of the dragon’s appearance he can’t say he disagrees. Baby dragons are odd things, fresh out the egg their wings are usually crumpled, much like butterflies. Their heads are abnormally large compared to their bodies and their wings even bigger yet, usually making it hard for them to even walk around properly until they’ve grown into them a bit. Despite all this though, Draco has to admit there is something unusually  _ beautiful  _ about them. 

He turns to eye the other three and realises they don’t seem to share the same opinion, whilst Weasley looks fascinated, both Potter and Granger wear the same look of disbelief at what they’re looking at crossed with a mild terror. 

They don’t get to stay long because the bell sounds once again and they have to rush back to the castle to get to their next lesson in time. 

***

From then onwards Draco doesn’t pretend he’s ignoring Potter anymore.

He goes with Potter when he goes to visit Hagrid and is thankful he’s not the only one that thinks the idea of letting him keep the damn dragon is absolute insanity. In fact, Potter tells him Weasley’s written to his brother - who  _ apparently  _ works with dragons, which he doubts because that’s way too cool of a job for a Weasley to have - to ask if there’s anything he can do to help the situation.

He could still tell any of their professors at any time, he could even tell Dumbledore himself if he felt like it, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t because Potter tells him not to and now he’s earnt this fragile level of trust the idea of destroying it seems counterproductive. 

Despite this development Draco still refuses to call Potter his friend. Not only because he’s stubborn but also because friendly is far from the right word for the way they talk to each other. 

“Malfoy, wait up,” Potter says as he’s leaving the Great Hall, he’s keen to get to the library and finish his Charms essay so he doesn’t stop but instead slows his pace, giving Potter time to catch up and walk alongside him. 

“What do you want, Potter?” he asks as if he doesn’t already know. 

“I’m going to see Hagrid,” he pauses and Draco sees him nervously rubbing the back of his neck out the corner of his eye, “I was er- wondering if you wanted to come as well?”

“As much as I love spending time with a rapidly growing beast that could-

“Keep your voice down!”

\- murder me at any moment I’m not sure your Weasel can handle anymore time in my presence and I don’t feel getting a detention for hexing him today,” he doesn’t have to look to know Potter’s rolling his eyes. 

“Ron’s not coming.” 

“Why not? He follows you everywhere, kind of like a lost puppy really. You should be careful, he might be after your money, or maybe he’s trying to piggyback off your fame,” he says thoughtfully.

Draco thinks it’s a good point but Potter scowls at him so he assumes he doesn’t agree.

“Whatever,” he says, waving his hand dismissively, “I was just trying to warn you, don’t come crying to me if I’m right. Anyway, why’s he not coming?”

“He’s in the hospital wing,” he tells him.

“How on earth did he manage that?”

And suddenly Potter is standing even closer than before, so close their arms are pressed together as they continue to walk. 

“Norbert bit him the other day,” he whispers, “we thought he was going to be fine, but well-

“I  _ told  _ you all Norwegian Ridgebacks are extremely venomous,” Draco interrupts sharply, “you should be very well glad he’s just a baby  _ and _ that Madam Pomfrey is damn good at her job otherwise the damn Weasel would probably be down an arm by the end of the week.”

“It’s not my fault he got bit, I wasn’t even there,” Potter says, clearly not happy at being lectured by Draco of all people. 

“We need to get rid of the bloody thing,” he replies, a finality in his tone.

“I  _ know,  _ and we are, Charlie’s friends are picking him up on Saturday, but we’ve got to get him to the astronomy tower by midnight.”

“And how are you going to do that without getting caught?” he asks, eyeing Potter curiously. 

“If you come with me to Hagrid’s, I’ll tell you when we get there.”

And with that any hopes of getting his Charms essay done and out of the way go out the window as they begin to walk in the completely opposite direction of the library.

***

When they’d gotten to Hagrid’s hut that Thursday afternoon Fang - who had taken a liking to Draco he’s not sure he approves of - had been sat outside with a bandaged tail. He’d bounded up to them and Draco had to try his best not to buckle under the weight of the huge dog placing its front paws on his shoulders. 

Granger had met them at the entrance to the school but it turned out they needn’t have bothered to venture down there in the first place as Hagrid wouldn’t even let them in.

Both Potter and Granger seemed to pity the fool. He however, thought him an idiot and therefore struggled to find even a shred of sympathy. In fact, he felt more sorry for Fang - it wasn’t his fault there was a venomous dragon in his home. 

Now it’s Saturday and somehow Draco has managed to sneak out of the Ravenclaw common room without getting caught. He’s more worried about getting back in than he is getting out due to only being about to answer on average about half of the riddles the door knocker gives him. 

Regardless, he makes his way to their agreed meeting place, making sure to stay on high alert - getting caught is not on his list of things to do this evening. 

When Potter had said he had an Invisibility Cloak Draco had thought he was lying because those things are as rarer than Demiguise sightings. Though, when he and Hermione stand in the alcove they decided to meet in and Potter appears seemingly out of nowhere holding a silvery fabric in his hand, he guesses there’s no questioning it. 

He sits down for  _ one  _ second when they get to Hagrid's hut and he ends up with Fang sitting on top of him - the dog’s so big he doesn’t know how it doesn’t crush him. Hagrid’s upset and takes entirely too long to say goodbye to the bloody thing. Then Potter and Granger take a hold of the crate, but instead of getting a move on they stare at him pointedly. 

“What?” he asks when they just continue to stand there. 

“Aren’t you going to help?” Granger asks, letting go of the crate and placing her hands on her hips.

“You are both aware all three of us learnt the Levitation Charm last term, right?”

“But we’re not supposed to use magic outside of lessons,” Granger argues stubbornly.

Thankfully, Potter seems to see sense, looking away from him and turning to Granger, “We’ve already broken a whole bunch of rules, I don’t see how one more can hurt.” 

“ _ Exactly,”  _ Draco says, throwing Granger a triumphant smirk that Potter doesn’t see. 

She rolls her eyes, scowling at him for what must be milliseconds before taking a step away from the crate and casting a  _ Wingardium Leviosa  _ on it. Angry snorting sounds come from the inside as the crate levitates about just a couple feet off of the floor and Draco has to remind himself that Hagrid had reassured them the crate was definitely fireproof. He casts a second  _ Wingardium Leviosa  _ on top of Granger’s for good measure and they give Potter the task of making sure the Invisibility Cloak doesn’t slip once they’ve got it into place. 

It’s not an easy task, but certainly a lot less physically strenuous than if they’d tried to carry the crate by hand. He’s certain the cloak slips more than a few times but fortunately they don’t come across anyone lurking in the corridors on their way up. Eventually, after a couple of wrong turns they manage to reach the corridor that leads to the tallest tower in the castle. 

All in all, he thinks everything’s gone rather smoothly. They’d made it up the steep spiral staircase of the tallest tower and the fresh night air felt like it was welcoming them with open arms. They only had to wait about ten minutes for Charlie’s friends to turn up and Draco stands awkwardly off to the side as Potter and Granger talk animatedly to Charlie’s friends, who are explaining the complexities of the harness they have to transport Norbert to wherever they’re taking him. 

Then Norbert is  _ finally  _ gone, disappearing into the night suspended between the four of Charlie’s friends on broomsticks. They make their way back down the spiral staircase, light headed from the mental strain of holding a Levitation Charm for so long and from the weight lifted off of them now they don’t have a dragon to worry about anymore. 

He should have realised it was too good to be true to get away with it all so easily. Footsteps sound through the corridor and the three of them exchange a panicked gaze. 

“Potter, the  _ cloak,”  _ Draco hisses as the cold air causes him to shiver and remember they’re supposed to have something over them. 

The footsteps get closer and closer and it’s too late as Filch appears from around the corner before they can possibly do anything. His face seems to loom out of the darkness of the corridor and Mrs Norris glares at them with lamp-like eyes from just behind him.

“Well, well, well,” he whispers, “we  _ are  _ in trouble.”

So much for not getting caught. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, if you enjoyed please consider leaving kudos or a comment, it means a lot!! I hope you're all doing okay and staying safe <3


	10. The Forbidden Forest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol soz this is a couple days late i've lost complete track of what day it is and i'm spending all my time doing a readathon and camp nanowrimo, thank you to everyone that's still here it means a lot and i hope you're all doing okay!!

It was bad enough they’d gotten caught but what made it even worse was that it was due to both their own idiocy and  _ Longbottom  _ of all people. Apparently Granger hadn’t been all that successful in sneaking out and Longbottom had taken it upon himself to make sure they weren’t getting into trouble. All this to then get caught by McGonagall and tell her exactly why he was out of bed. 

She’d then sent Flitch to find them and now they’re here, getting lectured about how disgusted she is with the four of them for being so irresponsible.

Personally, Draco thinks it’s irresponsible that they hadn’t noticed their groundskeeper was keeping a dragon on the premises, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. 

Granger looks guilty for being the main reason they’re in this mess, whilst Potter seems to just feel sorry for both himself and Longbottom. Draco, on the other hand, is too busy worrying about his parents finding out about this. 

Fortunately, McGonagall doesn’t mention any of their parents even once and, whilst Draco thinks it odd he isn’t going to question it, he’d much rather his father didn’t have any more reason to think of him as a disappointment. Although it did involve being friendly with Potter, so it's really a gamble on what his reaction would be. 

“All four of you will receive detentions - yes, you too, Mr Longbottom,  _ nothing  _ gives you the right to walk around school at night, especially these days, it’s very dangerous - fifty points will be taken from each of your respective houses.”

“ _ Fifty?”  _ gasps Granger , clearly not impressed

“Fifty points  _ each,”  _ Professor McGonagall reiterates, “meaning Gryffindor will be losing one hundred points in total.”

“Professor- Please-”

“My decision is final,” she breathes out angrily, “now back to bed, all of you. I’ve never been more ashamed of students, you should be glad I didn’t see it appropriate to wake up Professor Snape and Professor Flitwick at a time like this, but they will be informed and you will be spoken to individually.” 

She looks at him and Potter until they nod in understanding.

Much like himself, Potter hadn’t seemed bothered about the idea of losing house points at first. However, now he’s back in his bed, surrounded by his friends he thinks he ought to be a bit worried. Not caring for his own house that much means that he’s not too bothered about the house cup. Now that he thinks about it he hasn’t really got any house pride. However, his fellow Ravenclaws have it in abundance and he’s not sure they’ll take kindly to finding out he’s lost them fifty whole house points. 

***

“At least we’re not last,” Corner says in an attempt to lighten the mood as they catch sight of the hourglasses outside the Great Hall on their way to their first lesson. He hasn’t argued with Rivers since that one incident in the Great Hall and the five of them moved past it pretty quickly. He didn’t intend to have a repeat incident if only for convenience.

Of course his housemates had noticed the change in points on their way in but they’d still been oblivious to the reason why and Draco had still been able to pretend it was nothing to do with him. Although he wouldn’t admit it, he had been nervous about his friends' reactions, causing him to be abnormally quiet through most of breakfast. However, their reaction hadn’t been anywhere near as extreme as he’d been expecting and he’s allowed himself to relax a little. 

“I can’t believe  _ Hufflepuff  _ are in the lead,” he remarks sourly.

“They are the only house that didn’t lose any points last night,” Rivers points out, Draco glares at him but he just shrugs, “I’m only stating facts.”

“At least they’re modest about it, if Gryffindor were in first they wouldn’t shut up,” Terry says. 

“Yes,” Draco says as they wait for the staircase they’re on to stop moving, “but instead of celebrating they’re all sulking as if it’s the end of the world.”

“You say that as if you wouldn’t be acting the exact same way. Actually, knowing you you’d probably start hexing people.” 

“Oh, I’d start hexing people again over a lot less than that.”

It’s not quite true - he’s not keen to cast any hexes again anytime soon unless he needs to, the last thing he needs is yet another detention to sit - but his fellow Ravenclaws don’t need to know that.

***

Much to his surprise after getting rid of Norbert everything seems to continue as it had been. He spends most of his time outside of lessons reading or hanging out with Terry, being civil with Corner and Goldstein and trying his absolute best not to insult Rivers. 

It’s only when he lays in bed at night, the rest of his dorm mates sleeping soundly around him that his mind once again chooses to dwell on the reality of it all, but he can deal with it, he’s been dealing with that and more since September. 

Through her letters his mother continues to reassure him that his father will come around - she seems almost certain of it. He isn’t as optimistic. When he thinks about it for too long his father's voice in his head becomes too unbearable, words he never actually said out loud reverberating through his whole being as if through the empty corridors of the manor. 

Coupled with the oncoming exams looming over their heads and revision, things get a lot more stressful very quickly. He’d started revising before Easter to make sure there’s no possible way for him to be anything but top of the class.

Unfortunately, it seems he isn’t the only one getting an early start. 

“Can you believe Hermione’s started revising already?” Potter asks as he frustratedly slams his books down on the desk next to Draco, “she’s trying to get us to do it too, Ron’s thinks she’s mental and I think I agree.” 

“I started before Easter,” he admits, trying to sound nonchalant about it.

“Oh yeah, so did she, but she’s only started to bug  _ us  _ about it the past couple of weeks.”

The fact his fragile civility with Potter hasn’t fallen apart yet is the most surprising thing out of everything that had stayed the same. He’d assumed after getting rid of Norbert he and Potter would go back to how they were before - refusing to willingly acknowledge or talk to each other at all. So he’d been more than surprised when he turned up to Charms and sat in the empty seat next to him instead of his usual one next to Pansy. He’d had half the mind to tell him to sod off and go back to his Slytherin friends but the memory of how impressed his father had been when he’d told him he’d managed to befriend him dissuaded him from doing so.

In Herbology they have set groups for the project they’re working on but he and Potter sitting together in Charms seems to have become a routine. At least he assumes it’s a routine as it’s been going on for two weeks straight at this point. He’d risked a glance at Pansy the second time Potter had taken a seat next to him and she hadn’t seemed irritated as he had assumed. She’d instead been laughing about something with Blaise but had somehow managed to catch his eye in the small amount of time he’d glanced in her direction. Much to his surprise she'd actually smiled at him, a small, shy smile that made her whole face look foreign to him.

Everything continued like this for yet another week and he’s practically forgotten all about their detention. That is, until a small piece of parchment is delivered to him at breakfast the following Tuesday. It tells him where to go and when but contains no details of what the detention will actually entail. Considering they’ve been told to meet Filch he assumes it can’t be anything tolerable. 

Looking around the Great Hall for Potter, he spots him actually sitting at his own houses table for once. He catches his eye and from the look on his face, manages to come to the conclusion he got the same if not a very similar note. 

Without any idea of what the detention will entail he can’t help but be annoyed at the idea of losing a whole evening of revision - it wasn’t exactly their fault they’d had to get rid of a dragon because none of the Professors had noticed there was one the school grounds themselves. 

That evening at exactly ten minutes to eleven, he reluctantly closes the book he’s studying from and says goodbye to Terry, the only other first year that has yet to retreat to their dormitories. 

“Try to come back in one piece,” Terry tells him, “I’ve heard Filch wants to bring back the old punishments and I wouldn’t put it past him to at least try to get away with some under the teachers noses.”

Grimacing, Draco leaves the common room and enters the dimly lit corridor, cold night air causing him to shiver as he makes his way down to the entrance of the castle.

***

Seeing Hagrid waiting for them fills Draco with an instant sense of relief, but then he finds out  _ where  _ they’re going to be serving their detention. He isn’t proud of the panic he hears in his own voice when he tries to refuse and catching Potter smirking at him through the dim light doesn’t exactly help. 

However, he doesn’t fail to notice how the smile is wiped right off Potter’s face at the sight of the unicorn blood pooled on the floor of the forest, moonlight reflecting off of its silvery surface.

Hagrid splits them into two and they continue down the winding path through the thick trees and with every pool of blood they come across Draco’s pulse seems to quicken considerably, his own blood running colder and colder. 

Fang sticks close to his side, so tall that he’s practically shoulder to shoulder with him and Neville. 

Sneaking up behind Neville and grabbing him had been an attempt to lighten the mood, he hadn’t exactly expected the Gryffindor to be cowardly enough as to immediately send red sparks into the air. Unfortunately, Hagrid didn’t seem to understand his reasoning or believe that it had been harmless in intention. 

When they get back to the group and Hagrid explains to the other two what happened, Granger gives him a stern look and even Potter doesn’t look too impressed. A weak shrug is all he can manage in return before Hagrid starts talking again.

He and Potter do as Hagrid tells them, setting off into the depths of the forest once more whilst Granger and Longbottom go in the opposite direction with Hagrid. Despite knowing it to be impossible he swears it’s manages to get darker than it had been when they’d first entered the forest; it’s definitely gotten colder and he shivers as the icy wind whistles around them. 

Deeper into the forest they walk, branches and whatever else lies on the floor (near impossible to make out in the dim light) crunching and cracking under their feet. What feels like fear presses down on them like a physical weight, forcing them into silence for what must have been a good ten minutes.

Glancing at Potter, Draco’s gaze catches on the green lining of the other boys cloak.

“What’s it like?” he asks, voice uncharacteristically soft, quiet amongst the sounds of the forest.

“What’s what like?” Potter turns to him, seemingly shocked that Draco is the one that decided to break the silence.

“Being in Slytherin,” he replies, voice quieter still - he feels pathetic but there’s no one else here unless you count Fang and he wants to know.

“I dunno, I don’t really have anything to compare it to, but,” he pauses for a second, fiddling with the handle of the lantern he’s holding, “you know they don’t talk to me, right?” 

“That’s not true, Pansy’s always with you, and the whole Quidditch team, not the mention that Weasley who’s basically adopted you,” he lists but Draco can’t see Potter’s face as he’s not looking at him anymore, eyes trained on the winding path.

“I know you’re jealous, Malfoy- 

“I am not!” he interrupts defiantly but Potter ignores him completely. 

\- you’re jealous that I’m where you’re  _ supposed  _ to be, or at least where you think you’re supposed to be. Truth is when the whole wizarding world credits you for the downfall of Voldemort, being put in a house with people whose parents very likely supported him doesn’t do you any favors.”

“Maybe if you weren’t friends with a blood traitor and a Mud-

“Don’t you  _ dare.” _

-blood more people would actually talk to you.”

Potter glares at him for just a second, the light from the latern he holds reflecting off of the lenses of his glasses and the bright green eyes behind them. Once again they fall into silence, this one almost twice as uncomfortable to deal with than the last. Draco’s tempted to break it once again but he can’t think of anything to say to continue the conversation, it’s not like he’s going to  _ apologize.  _

“Surely it can’t be that bad,” Potter says after a while, “after all, you do have friends, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he snaps back, but when he meets Potter’s eyes in the candlelight something seems to change, most of his animosity leaving him, "you couldn’t possibly understand…”

“You know my dad's entire family were in Gryffindor, right?” Potter butts in before Draco can go ahead with embarrassing himself.

“Well yes, b-but that’s different, isn’t it?”

“Why, because he’s dead?”

“That’s a very direct way to put it.”

“I’m assuming you know who Sirius Black is since you’re related to him?” Potter asks, clearly not wanting to take the topic of his parents death any further.

“I do,” Draco replies, quickly recalling what his mother had told him about her traitorous second cousin.

“He’s my godfather,” Potter tells him.

This is also news to Draco, for as much as his mother had told him about how Sirius had been disowned by his own mother she hadn’t ever mentioned what he was up to now.

“He was a disgrace to the Black family, that’s what he was,” Draco swears he hears exasperation in the sigh Potter lets out, “what’s that got to do with anything, anyway?”

“You know half the reason he was disowned?”

“Because he was a filthy blood traitor,” Draco replies bitterly. 

“The other half,” Potter says and yes, that’s definitely exasperation in his voice. 

“How should I know that?” Draco snaps back, except he does know, knows before Potter tells him, a fact that’s floating around in his head for a while.

“He was the first Black to get sorted into Gryffindor,” Potter says.

Draco doesn't get the chance to come up with a response however, as suddenly Potter is gripping his arm with a command for attention.

“Look- “ he murmurs and Draco does.

Inching closer at the same time Potter does, his breath hitches in his throat when he gets close enough to see it properly. By the stump of one of the tall, twisting trees of the forest lays a gleaming, white unicorn. The silvery blood they’d seen in pools throughout the forest trickles from its body and onto the dark leaves. It’s pearly mane and tail are splayed out and its slender legs stick out at angles that are uncomfortable to look at.

The sight, despite its inherent beauty, makes him sad. Such a beautiful creature having had its life extinguished seems wrong to him and he can’t quite place a finger on why. He doesn’t get a chance to ponder that for any longer however, as a dreadful slithering noise comes from not far off from where they’re standing.

Potter seems frozen to the spot at the noise so Draco takes it upon himself to drag him back from the clearing and into the safe cover of the thick trees and extinguish the lantern in Potter’s hand. Not a second after he, Potter and Fang are hidden in the darkness a rustling of bushes sounds from the other edge of the clearing and a cloaked figure emerges from the shadows, crawling across the forest floor in a way human in terms of proportions but distinctly beast-like in nature. The three of them, including Fang, are transfixed by the sight and it’s only when it reaches the unicorn and begins to drink from the wound in its side does reality hit. 

Resisting the urge to scream, Draco grabs Potter around the wrist before he can think properly about what he’s doing. He legs it in the opposite direction to the clearing and the cloaked figure in it. Fortunately, the sudden force that must have occurred to his shoulder joint breaks Potter out of his transfixed state and he follows no more than a foot behind him. 

He doesn’t dare stop until the burning in his lungs from such an abrupt sprint becomes unbearable. Panting heavily and relishing the icy wind he had despised less than half an hour ago, he lets go of Potters wrist not realising he’d had it gripped tightly for the entire duration they’d been running for. Nudging his hand with his snout, Fang provides good support and Draco leans against the large boarhound, who seems to take it as an opportunity to lean around and lick his face.

“Ugh- No, gross- Bad dog!” he hisses, using his hands to shield his face as he tried to scold Fang.

“What  _ was  _ that?” Potter asks, not sounding nearly as out of breath as Draco feels but he puts that down to the amount of Quidditch practise Flint probably makes the Slytherin team do. 

“I don’t know but it’s nothing good, that’s for sure,” Draco replies shakily, the image of the humanoid figure crouched over the dead unicorn still fresh in his mind. 

Then a sound of galloping echoes through the trees before either of them can even think about running again and a centaur emerges from the shadows. Draco lets out a sigh of relief and slumps once again against Fang - centaurs are proud but they’re not dangerous unless you give them a reason to be. 

The centaur seems to look past Draco, his sapphire blue eyes - ever so similar to his mothers - instead focusing on Potter. Draco follows his lead and also turns to look at Potter. Now he’s actually  _ looking  _ he sees what he assumes the centaur is so intrigued by - the forking scar on his forehead stands out as if it were freshly healed, angry and  _ painful.  _

“Are you both alright?” he asks, gaze flickering between the two of them.

Draco nods and Potters replies in the affirmative. 

“What was that?” Potter repeats and the centaur looks at him with great interest. 

The centaur tells them his name is Firenze and that it isn’t safe to be in the forest, Draco has a sarcastic comeback on the tip of his tongue but then more galloping sounds through the forest. Moments later two more centaurs burst through the trees, their flanks heaving and their faces stern. 

They begin to scold Firenze but Draco doesn’t really listen, still struggling to steady his breathing. 

His attention is only drawn back to their conversation when Firenze rears on his back legs and begins bellowing at one of the other centaurs. He startles when he sees that at some point Potter had climbed onto the centaurs back and he quite understands the anger of the other two. Then, Firenze is turning away from the other centaurs and towards him, he glances at Fang for just a second before fixing his gaze on Draco. 

“Can you ride?” he asks, voice much softer than just a second ago. 

Draco nods like he had with the first question the centaur had asked him and Firenze lowers himself down on his front legs, allowing Draco to climb onto his back behind Potter. Two fully grown adults wouldn’t have been able to fit on his back, but due to the fact they very much are not fully grown adults the two of them fit easily. 

Potter, having gotten on first, is able to grip onto Firenze’s neck for security. On the other hand, Draco’s own options seem to be limited to either falling off or wrapping his arms around Potter. Reluctantly, he does the latter and Firenze whisks around, leaving the other two centaurs looking thoroughly irritated in the small clearing they had been standing in. 

“Can you answer my question now?” Potter asks when they’re deep in the trees, far off the path Hagrid told them to stick to. 

Firenze doesn’t answer but does thankfully slow down to a walk, allowing Draco to loosen his grip on Potter, who, he notices, is shaking - out of cold or fear Draco’s not sure. For a long time they make their way through the trees in silence, Draco ever so painfully aware of every rise and fall of Potter’s breathing against his chest that accompanies the now subtle shaking of his entire body. With a sudden awareness Draco realises that Potter is not the only one shaking, and does his best to once again steady his breathing but the freezing wind of what must now be the early morning prevents him from stilling his own shivering form. 

Draco’s getting used to the rhythmic pattern of Potter’s breathing and Firenze’s hooves repeatedly hitting the ground below them when the centaur suddenly comes to a stop in a particularly dense patch of trees.

“Harry Potter, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?” he asks.

Knowing the question isn’t directed at him and feeling rather out of place Draco tries to stay quiet but finds it quite impossible to not answer a question he knows the answer to.

“Blood of a unicorn grants the drinker immortality,” Draco replies, quoting the ancient potions book he’d found in the manor’s library. 

Firenze makes a noise that sounds like approval before filling in all the details Draco’s simple answer didn’t include. 

“But who’d be so desperate?” Potter questions. “If you’re going to be cursed forever, death’s better, isn’t it?” 

Draco thinks he knows the answer to his first question but he’s not overcome with the urge to answer like he was before. Agreeing with Potter, Firenze goes on being cryptic in the way centaurs are ever so fond of and with each passing word his stomach sinks even further. 

“Mr Potter, do you know what is hidden in the school at this very moment?” he finishes by asking yet another question and this one Draco has no idea how to answer - but it seems Potter does.

“The Philosopher’s Stone! Of course-”

“The Philosopher's Stone is at  _ Hogwarts?” _

Potter freezes before twisting around as well as he can manage to look at Draco, eyes wide. 

“You weren’t supposed to find out about that,” he croaks, clearly having forgotten Draco was even there. 

He’d take the time to be offended if he wasn’t so intrigued by what Potter had just let slip. 

“Well, I know now,” he says but before the conversation can go any further- 

“Harry! Harry, are you alright?” 

Granger comes running through the trees, Hagrid following close behind.

* * *

Harry goes to head back to the dungeons, tired, scared and confused after the events in the forest. He’s still shaking and is relying on muscle memory to get back to the Slytherin common room without getting lost. 

Footsteps sound behind him but he’s too out of it to acknowledge them until a hand is pulling him into an empty classroom.

Startled, he looks around at the stacked desks, gaze finally focusing on where Malfoy stands in front of him, hand still firmly gripping the sleeve of his robes. Once he realises Harry isn’t attempting to leave he lets go, a determined look on his face.

“ _ Explain,”  _ he demands and Harry just blinks at him, his mind going blank at once.

“Explain what?” he says, almost in a daze. 

“The  _ stone,”  _ Malfoy urges, “how do you know it’s in the school?”

“Oh, we found out about it over Christmas.” 

Malfoy looks at him expectantly and Harry sighs, letting himself slide down onto the stone floor, crossing his legs in an attempt to get comfortable as he accepts he isn’t getting back to his bed for a little while yet. No more than a metre away, Malfoy joins him, looking at him with a bizarre interest that makes Harry’s chest tight.

At peace with the fact Ron and Hermione won’t be happy about it, he tells Malfoy everything. The same part of him that had been feeling sorry for him all school year feels like he deserves to know - so he tells him. Tells him about all the things he’s seen that he shouldn’t have; about Fluffy, the trapdoor and Snape and Quirrell. About all the things they’d found out about; Nicolas Flamel, the stone, the Elixir of Life.

The only thing he doesn’t mention is the mirror, something he hadn’t dared to mention since he’d told Ron and Hermione about his nightmares. 

“So you think Snape wants the stone?” Malfoy asks skeptically.

“Ron and Hermione do,” Harry says because he isn’t sure what he thinks about anything right now.

“But you don’t know why he wants it?”

Harry shakes his head. The truth is he has a very good idea after his conversation with Firenze in the forest but he’s not sure he wants to accept it. By the look on Malfoy’s face he’s thinking the same thing.

This is something he needs to talk to Ron and Hermione about tomorrow when he can think straight, they’re people he knows will understand, people he doesn’t need to explain the situation to first. Of course, this is assuming they don’t refuse to talk to him after they find out he’s told Malfoy.

“I need to sleep,” Harry says after yawning, stretching his arms above his head before hauling himself up off the floor.

Malfoy does the same, brushing non existent dust off of his robes as he stands. By the light of their wands they make their way towards the door but before Harry can push it open Malfoy holds his arm in front of it, preventing him from leaving. 

“Do you really not have parchment laying around, Potter?”

“What?” Harry asks irritatedly, voice starting to slur with sleep. 

“I got your letter,” Malfoy says simply and unless Harry’s mistaken his cheeks are tinted very slightly pink.

Harry stares at him blankly for so long he’s not sure why Malfoy’s still stood there waiting for a response. Then it comes back to him suddenly, the hastily scribbled note he’d sent with Hedwig on Christmas Eve. He thinks about the piece of parchment on which Malfoy had written his reply in neat cursive that he knows to be wedged securely between the pages of his copy of  _ Quidditch Through the Ages  _ back at Grimmauld Place.

“I know, I got your reply,” he says slowly, pushing up his glasses to rub his tired eyes, “and I prefer to write on dead trees instead of dead animal skin if I can help it.”

Rolling his eyes, Malfoy moves his arm out of the way of the door and Harry goes to leave but he doesn’t get far before yet  _ again  _ he’s stopped, Malfoy gripping his robes once more.

Turning around as sharply as he can manage in his exhausted state, he’s ready to pull his robes out of his hand and leave anyway but the look in Malfoy’s eyes stops him.

“Just one more thing,” he assures after the sight of Harry’s undoubtedly irritated expression, “I think it’s safe to say we’re friends now, whether I like it or not.” Malfoy holds out his hand that isn’t still gripping Harry’s robes. Despite his exhaustion and anxiety over the events of the evening Harry looks from the other boys outstretched hand to the genuine look on his face and grins at him.

“Yes, I think it is,” Harry replies,taking his hand and for some unfathomable reason he’s certain this handshake means a lot more than their previous one had. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, if you enjoyed please consider leaving kudos or a comment, it means a lot!!


	11. New Friends and Old Enemies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's chapter day again!!! and jesus christ i cannot believe there's only two chapters left i want to thank every single on of you that's still here whether you kudos, comment or literally just read i appreciate it all so much :)

Looking back on it in later years, Draco might question how easily he’d managed to prioritise exams over thinking any more in depth about all the things Potter had told him that night after their detention. But as it stands, for the week following the incident in the forest he barely speaks to anyone but his professors and occasionally Terry. He doesn’t even allow himself to give Potter a second of his time, too busy staring at Granger and hoping if he stares hard enough he’ll be able to work out if she’s spending more time on revision than he is. 

When he’s not trying to read Granger's mind through means of staring he’s got his nose shoved in a book or is rewriting his notes in meticulously neat handwriting in the hopes it’ll better reinforce the information in his head. 

Then the exams come and go, the whole week a stress filled blur, as if it had lasted just a blink of an eye. The relief that comes with finishing the exams doesn’t last long though, because then he starts stressing all over again about his grades, which he can’t do anything about except wait for his results. 

But before they actually get their grades they’ve got a week to do absolutely nothing. 

“It’s like a week of freedom!” Rivers announces, arms outstretched as if welcoming the outside world as their little group walks out onto the school grounds. 

Draco sneers; partly because he thinks the statement is ridiculous and partly because at some point their group had expanded and now contains a few of the Hufflepuffs from their year, he doesn’t actually know their names and he doesn’t care to find out. 

Without any revision to do he’s not sure what to do with his time, he’s gotten so used to keeping himself busy over the past year that doing nothing seems like a foreign concept to him. Sneaking back into the castle and into the library is tempting but they’d been told to go outside, so that’s what they’re doing. 

Their group walks around the Great Lake for a bit, it’s entirely too hot to do much else and before long they end up sitting by the edge of the water. The others sit closer to the water, playing a game of Exploding Snap on a rock. Draco chooses to sit on the grass under the shade of a few large trees in an attempt to get out of the sun. Terry shouts over to him asking if he wants to join them and he’s in the middle of deciding whether or not he can be bothered when a sudden movement catches his eye. 

When he notices it’s Potter, Granger and Weasley he jumps to his feet in an instant, startling the other boys as he breaks into a sprint to catch up with them - anywhere those three are going in a hurry is guaranteed to be something interesting and the idea of taking his mind off his results is too much to resist.

He manages to cut them off just before they reach the castle, Potter very almost runs into him but stops at the last minute, looking at the Draco in confusion. Granger gives him her usual glare and Weasley looks dangerously close to sending a fist flying his way. He ignores them both. 

“Where are you going in such a rush?” he asks but Potter isn’t even looking at him, clearly too focused on whatever they’re going to do.

“Not now Malfoy, we’re busy,” Ron tells him, voiced laced with restraint. 

“Is it to do with the Stone?” 

Draco really hadn’t anticipated Potter not having told his friends that he’d told him but he supposes he understands his reasoning based on their reactions.

Granger’s voice is stern and Weasley straight up starts shouting. Potter seems startled for a minute but soon recovers.

“Keep your voices down,” he says in a tone stern enough to challenge Granger’s, who looks at him, bewildered, “you’re both attracting too much attention.”

And sure enough, when Draco looks around people  _ are  _ in fact staring at the two first years shouting at Harry Potter in the middle of the school grounds. 

“Mate, why did you tell  _ Malfoy?”  _ Ron says it quieter now, glaring at Draco as if somehow this is all his fault.

“I told you, he was there in the forest when all that stuff happened,” Potter explains but the other two don’t seem convinced, “anyway, we can’t keep talking out here.”

“Harry’s right,” Granger says and begins walking towards the castle. 

Along with Potter and Weasley, Draco follows behind them still eager for the distraction he was hoping for. However, he doesn’t get far as suddenly Weasley is stood in front of him, face red with anger. 

“Sod  _ off,  _ Malfoy, you’re not coming with us,” he snarls and Draco sneers at him, more than ready to shove him out the way before Potter interrupts. 

“Leave him alone, Ron, he knows about everything anyway,” Potter says but that doesn’t seem to convince him so he adds, “and he helped get rid of Norbert.”

It’s with great reluctance but Weasley backs off, instead turning to Potter.

“I don’t trust him, Harry.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Draco interjects.

They ignore him.

“Well, I  _ do _ ,” Potter replies.

Both he and Weasley stare at Potter, setting them back from whatever they’re supposed to be doing by at least another minute.

Then Weasley turns, heading on to catch up with Granger, who’s already stood in the Entrance Hall, arms crossed and face stern.

“So where  _ are  _ we going?” he asks whilst they’re still out of earshot of the others.

“To talk to Dumbledore,” Potter replies, taking the steps up to the castle two at a time. 

“What are you talking to him about?”

“You’ll find out when we get there, I can’t talk about it out here,” he says, eyes darting around to all the other students still looking over at them curiously. 

“Harry?” Draco asks quietly as they walk up the rest of the way to the castle. 

Potter turns to him sharply and it takes Draco a second to realise it’s because it’s the first time he’s referred to him by his first name. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at him expectantly, which Draco takes as a cue to continue. 

“Why did you say you trusted me?”

“Because I do,” he says it like it’s a fact and Draco doesn’t understand.

“But  _ why?”  _

“Dunno,” he says shrugging, “it just feels right.”

They fall into silence after that and soon Potter quickens his pace to catch up with his friends, leaving Draco confused, trailing a little behind them.

Once they’re actually in the Entrance Hall however, the trio abruptly comes to a stop, seeming to have not planned out whatever they’re doing any further than this. Finally, Potter explains about what Hagrid had accidently let slip and Draco takes joy in observing the irritated looks Weasley keeps sending in his direction. He’s about to tell them that there’s no way Dumbledore will listen to a group of first years when Professor McGonagall comes along to do it for him. 

If it wasn’t for the connotations of the teachers not listening to them he’d have let his smugness show, but as it is they now have a bigger problem on their hands than they’d had before. Well, he says ‘they’ as if he doesn’t watch the situation unfold like a fly on the wall, Weasley suddenly too concerned with the much more important issue of the Dark Lord coming back to give him a second thought. So he stays quiet, so quiet that judging by their reactions when he does actually speak they’d forgotten he was there at all. 

“I’m coming too,” he’d been caught between announcing that and commenting on what Granger had just said about her Charms exam; he’d told himself there was a place and time; and right now was neither the time or place. 

Weasley looks about to try and start an argument again. At first Granger just looks surprised but then starts looking at him in an analytical way he’s not very happy about. Meanwhile Potter, who’s already been worn down by Granger’s very logical argument only seems to be able to find the energy to look mildly concerned.

“Ok,” he says when Granger and Weasley eventually turn to him for his verdict and the four of them begin working on a plan for what they’re going to do. 

***

Draco sits in his usual window, stroking Artemis but instead of looking out over the school he stares at the dark wooden clock on the mantelpiece on the opposite side of the room. Ticking and his own breathing are the only sounds that fill the room as everyone else has gone to bed, he’d pretended to do the same, waiting for the rest of his dorm mates to fall asleep before slipping out of his bed and back down into the common room.

The plan had been set, Potter had given them each a time, the further away the common room from the dungeons the later the time. As they were all in different houses they couldn’t just put the cloak on and head out so they’d decided that this was the best option, Potter would come to their common rooms one by one and they’d let him in at their set time.

At exactly eleven twenty-nine he lets Artemis back out of the window and hops down as silently as he can before making his way towards the door with featherlight steps. He succeeds in inching the door open without it creaking and a few minutes later Potter and Weasley appear seemingly out of thin air. They don’t talk, just exchange a weird succession of nods before all three of them get under the cloak, doing their best to shut the door behind them just as quietly as Draco had opened it without the cloak slipping off. 

It’s not far to the Gryffindor Tower from the Ravenclaw one and just as they get there the portrait of the fat lady swings open, revealing Granger stood just behind it, still in her robes just like the rest of them. 

“Poor Neville,” Granger mutters, climbing through the hole and joining them under the cloak.

“Why, what’s he done now?” Weasley asks curiously. 

“He tried to stop me, and of course I couldn’t let that happen, not when this is so important, so - oh gosh, I feel so bad - I had to put a full Body-Bind on him.” 

“And you managed to pull it off?” Draco asks.

She nods. 

“Impressive,” he finds himself saying before he thinks twice about it.

“Thank you, Malfoy,” she replies smugly, looking a tad more cheery and Draco grimances. 

“Shut up, you’ll get us caught,” Potter hisses and they fall silent once again.

Despite their concerns, the four of them do fit quite easily under the cloak and they shuffle along the corridors of the castle with just the light of the constantly burning candles on the calls to guide them. 

When Peeves scoots off after being fooled by Potter’s impression of the Bloody Baron the four of them have to hold in their laughter until the poltergeist is most definitely out of earshot. 

“ _ Brilliant,  _ Harry,” Draco hears Weasley mutter between muffled chuckling. 

Then they’re there in the third-floor corridor. Up until now Draco’s only heard about Fluffy the three-headed dog but he still isn’t quite prepared for what he sees when Potter pushes the already ajar door open. The door creaks but it’s only just audible over the deep, rumbling growls that seem to vibrate through the stone floors. It can’t see them but it’s three noses sniff madly and Draco flinches when all three of its huge heads turn in their direction. Weasley elbows him in the ribs and Draco’s quick to elbow him back. It doesn’t have time to escalate because both Potter and Granger turn sharply towards them with a dangerous look in their eyes. 

So, as much as he’d prefer not to, he turns back to the dog. He hears Potter say something but he’s too busy taking in the huge beast in front of him to process what the other boy is saying. 

His gaze remains fixed on it, alternating between its three heads and it’s paws with claws easily the length of his forearm. It’s only when the great thing finally ceases it’s growling and slumps to the ground is he finally able to regain his concentration.

“Keep playing,” Weasley tells Potter, who is playing a small, wooden flute in order to keep the dog asleep, and then the cloak is being slipped off of them by Potter and they’re all creeping towards the trapdoor.

They argue a little about who’s going to go first, but Potter, being the self-sacrificing idiot he is, volunteers. Draco, being the coward  _ he  _ is, goes last and he continues to play the flute - much better than Potter if he does say so himself - as he drops into the darkness of the trapdoor, simultaneously bracing himself but also entirely not ready for whatever might be awaiting him down there. If he’s honest, he doesn’t particularly trust Potter’s judgement. 

***

All in all, Draco feels like a bit of a spare part in the scheme of things. His only contribution had been remembering Devil’s Snare hates fire, but Granger had remembered that at exactly the same time so it wasn’t really helpful. Potter had caught the key in the second room and their success in the third room had been entirely dependent on Weasley, who is more skilled at chess than Draco would have ever thought a Weasley could be.

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed by the fact that Granger had figured out the the potions puzzle before he had, but he wasn’t going to tell her that, he’d already accidently complimented her once this evening. 

Picking up the tiny bottle she’d pointed to just seconds ago, Potter observes it for a few seconds, trying to see the liquid through the dark glass.

“There’s only enough there for one of us,” he says, and Draco already knows where this is going as he holds up the bottle for the two of them to see properly. “That’s hardly one swallow.”

The three of them look at each other.

“Which one will get you back through the purple flames?”

Granger looks reluctant but points at the round bottle at the end of the line, which by now Draco has also figured out is the right one. 

Potter tells them both to drink it, as unlike the one to get through the black there’s definitely enough to get the both of them through. He waits impatiently, not sure if he’s more irritated about their display of care for each other or because of how useless he feels in all of this. 

Lowering the bottle from her lips and shuddering, Granger passes the bottle to Draco who downs the last of it. He quickly understands why she’d shuddered as he does the same - his whole body feels as if ice has flooded through it, running through every vein and nerve ending individually.

“It’s not poison?” Potter asks anxiously, it’s directed at Granger but he’s looking between the both of them with the same worried expression. 

Granger reassures him it’s not, but warns him of the dreadful chill it causes. He tells them to go, an urgency in his voice and they do.

“Good luck - take care -,” Granger says. 

“GO!” 

Teary eyed, Granger walks through the flames and Draco goes to follow, but right before he’s about to pass through them he turns back abruptly to see Potter still watching. 

“Try not to die, Potter, it’d be such a pity now we’re being civil,” he says and Potter has the cheek to look  _ exasperated  _ with him. 

“Get out of here,” he replies, a melancholy smile playing on his face and with that Draco passes through the flames, purple surrounding his vision for just a second as the icy feeling intensifies. 

Then he’s back in the room with the giant chess board. Weasley still laying, passed out on the floor where’d they’d left him, surrounded by broken parts of chess pieces. Kneeling by his side, Granger mumbles frantically to herself under her breath and as Draco approaches he realises she’s going over possible healing spells.

“Don’t bother,” he says, feeling  _ almost  _ bad at the panic on her face when she looks up at him, “there’s no way you’ll be able to perform any sort of healing spell, it’s practically impossible at our age.” 

He ignores her near whimpers and walks round to stand on the other side of Weasley’s unconscious body. It’s obvious he’s still breathing so Draco decides the best solution is a sharp, swift kick to the side. Weasley jolts, Granger lets out a strangled noise at his actions but the other boy’s eyes remain shut. So he does it again. This time he gets the reaction he wants as Weasley’s eyes shoot open and he sits up with a start 

“You don’t need magic for absolutely  _ everything  _ you know, I’d have thought you would know that, being a Mudblood and all.”   
At that Weasley’s on his feet in seconds, but before he can so much as pull out his own wand, Granger’s holding him back.

“Ron,  _ no!”  _ she tells him firmly in the same manner often used on dogs. “There’s more important things to do right now, we have to go and find Professor Dumbledore and tell him about Harry.” 

Weasley spins around to stare at her. 

“Tell him what about Harry?” concern laces his voice. 

Granger explains quickly, words tumbling out of her mouth and stumbling over each other in her rush but Weasley seems to get the point easily enough. Then they’re back in the flying key room and they each take a broom just as Potter had told them to. He doesn’t have long to relish the feeling of being on a broom again before they’re back on solid ground. Getting through the small trapdoor whilst flying wasn’t the easiest thing, he’d admittedly been a bit concerned for Granger, who hadn’t looked confident at all when she’d climbed onto her own broom. 

Running as fast as they can manage without tripping over anything they make their way down copious staircases, being careful of the ones that move, trying to get to the owlery as they’d been instructed. 

“Harry’s gone after him, hasn’t he?” Dumbledore asks when they run into him in the Entrance Hall, but he hurtles past them - presumably on his way to the third floor corridor - before any of them can so much as nod. 

They all stare, stunned, then an awful thought strikes Draco.

“D-do you think he planned this?” he asks uncertainly. 

“Surely not, that would have been highly irresponsible,” Granger responds defiantly. 

“He’s been known to do much worse,” Draco points out, thinking about the list of questionable things his father has told him about their headmaster. 

***

Just a few days later Draco sits alone in the library, doing his best to immerse himself in a book. There’s a shuffling noise and he looks up reluctantly when he realises that the shuffling is coming from right in front of him. Behind the chair tucked into the opposite side of the table stands Hermione Granger, looking more nervous if anything as he glares from his seat. Despite the other day, things hadn’t exactly gotten better between the three of them, especially without Potter to act as a mediator. 

He doesn’t speak, just stares, and Granger coughs awkwardly before taking the silence as her que to speak. 

“We’re going to see Harry,” she says politely, “we were wondering if you wanted to come with us?”

Knowing who she means by ‘we’, but also knowing that Weasley is definitely  _ not  _ wondering if he wants to come, he closes the book on the table and puts it back in his bag. 

“Is he awake now?” he asks as they leave the library. Weasley is waiting just outside, arms crossed and scowl fixed onto his face.

“Dumbledore told us he is,” Granger tells him as Weasley gives him a glare, but he notes it has less animosity than the usual. 

So together, they walk through the corridors of the castle, all the way up to the hospital wing. 

“Draco?” comes an all to familiar voice as they turn the corner. 

He should have guessed Pansy would be here. He’s deciding whether or not it would be a good idea to just walk away, it’s not like he  _ needs  _ to see Potter anyway, although he supposes it is the sort of thing a friend should do. However, before he can come to his decision she’s launched herself at him, arms wrapped tightly around him in a hug. 

When she pulls away she’s teary eyed and continues to have a surprisingly firm grip on both of his shoulders until she has to let go to wipe her eyes to prevent herself from actually crying. 

“I asked Granger about Harry and she told me what happened, and that you were involved, a-and I just didn’t know what to do. Oh, I’ve been so, so  _ stupid,  _ I should never have stopped talking to you it’s just-”

“Pansy, calm  _ down,”  _ he tells her firmly, “you’re acting as if this was a one way thing, I stopped talking to you too.”

In an instant she gets herself together again, raising her nose in the air, she crosses her arms over her chest.

“I guess you’re right ,” she says, her voice still wavering slightly as she asks, “s-so we’re friends again?”

“I suppose,” he replies haughtily, but the smile on his face is wide.

“If you two are finished with your reunion,” Weasley says bitterly. 

They both turn to glare at him simultaneously, but then they’re laughing, almost hysterically at their united reaction. Weasley rolls his eyes.

“We’re only allowed in for five minutes,” Granger says loudly to be heard over their laughter, but at her words they both quieten down. 

Together, he and Pansy follow Granger and Weasley into the infirmary. The intensity of Madam Pomfrey’s glare making his skin crawl. 

_ “Harry!”  _ Granger exclaims and to his surprise, Pansy echoes her with equal excitement and relief in her voice.

The other three crowd around Potter’s bed, rushing to fill each other in on what they’d each missed. Weasley and Granger perch on one side, whilst Pansy gets comfortable on the other. Draco stands at the foot of the bed, watching and listening but not engaging in the conversation.

He watches Granger’s obvious restraint to embrace her friend and eyes Weasley, wondering if he feels the same but is just better at hiding it. Notices how quiet Pansy is compared to usual, having for once very little to add to the conversation and instead doing a very good job of listening intently. He listens intently too, to Potter’s recount of everything that had happened and if he hadn’t been with him up until that point he doubts he would have believed even half of it. 

Then he listens again as Granger tells him what had happened to them, Weasley interrupting every now and then to make arguably unnecessary comments. Draco remains silent and everyone’s too caught up in the conversation to pay him a second of their attention.

Except Potter, who, every couple of minutes catches his eye. Everytime Draco averts his own. That is, up until Madam Pomfrey starts shouting at them to get out and their eyes meet once more and if Draco isn’t mistaken the smiles they exchange contain a lot more than they seem to on the surface level. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, if you enjoyed please consider leaving kudos or a comment, it means a lot!!


	12. London Calling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it... The end of the beginning. This is really wild because this is the first multichap fic I've seen all the way through. Thank you to all the people still here and to every single person that's commented or left kudos, my minds a bit all over the place (also I'm really awkward) so I'm sorry if I don't always get round to replying to your comment, but I do see and appreciate all of them!! I hope you all enjoy!!

After Madam Pomfrey kicks his friends out, firmly reminding them that Harry still needs his rest in order to fully recover, Harry lets himself sink back into the covers, knowing he won’t be able to get back to sleep, but still hoping nonetheless. There’s not exactly much to do and Madam Pomfrey is of the opinion that the quickest recovery is achieved from doing absolutely nothing. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to stare at the ancient architecture of the ceiling for long. The hospital wing is quiet and through the very distant noise of students walking through corridors he hears distinct voices he can’t help but recognise. At first they’re too far away to even begin to make out what they’re saying, but as they get closer he’s able to hone in on the familiar voices. 

Sirius’ voice comes, sharp and angry, echoing through the corridor outside of the hospital wing, “I can’t believe that man! Honestly, one of these days-” 

“You’re going to what, Padfoot? Duel the greatest wizard of our time? I wish you luck with your endeavor but I will not be helping,” Remus replies, Harry has to strain to hear since he isn’t almost shouting like Sirius had been. 

“Don’t tell me you agree with him?” Sirius snaps. 

There’s a pause, and Harry can picture Remus’ face of consideration without having to see it. 

“No, but he was correct in saying Harry needed his rest and we all know what you’re like…”

“What in Merlin’s name is that supposed to mean?” 

They’re right outside the door now and in the silence of the hospital wing Harry can hear Remus’ audible sigh. Two firm knocks. Harry sits up instantly, eyes wide and breath caught in his throat. Looking at him in what Harry assumes is pity, Madam Pomfrey shakes her head, muttering something about proper recovery before reluctantly letting the two of them in. It’s only when she steps out of the way and pushes the door open properly can he finally see Sirius and Remus, faces tense and full of worry.

“Thank fuck you’re alright, _ ”  _ Sirius breathes, completely ignoring Madam Pomfrey’s presence.

He doesn’t show the same restraint Hermione had as he rushes over to his bedside and wraps him in a hug, not seeming to notice Harry wincing at the pressure. Admittedly, it’s painful, but it’s also grounding. Harry hugs him back as fiercely as he can manage with his still aching arms, revelling in the comfort and security of his godfather’s embrace. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry manages to get out whilst his lungs are being crushed.

_ “Sirius,”  _ Remus, who had been talking to Madam Pomfrey in undertones that made it impossible for Harry to overhear, chastises. 

At Remus’ word of warning Sirius immediately lets go but keeps his hands firmly planted on his shoulders, relief clear on his face. Then, thanking Madam Pomfrey - presumably for what she’s done to help his recovery - Remus walks over to stand at the end of Harry’s bed. For a minute he allows himself to look relieved much like Sirius, but then his expression morphs into something serious and Harry prepares himself.

“What on  _ earth  _ were you thinking?” is the first thing he says and it’s in the  _ exact  _ stern tone Harry was expecting. He winces and waits for the rest but it doesn’t come. 

“Remus, I don’t think we’re in a position to talk,” Sirius interjects. Remus gives Sirius a dire look but. 

Remus shakes his head slightly as if at himself, “I suppose we’re not, but that doesn’t make what you did any less stupid.” 

“I had to do it,” insists Harry, “no one was listening to us!”

“Someone else could have dealt with it, you didn’t have to-”

“No one was listening to us!” Harry repeats, needing them to understand. 

“We would have listened, why didn’t you tell us?” the sadness in Remus’ face when he says it makes him feel instantly guilty. 

He could have told them,  _ should  _ have told them, but if he had would Voldemort have been stopped?

“I didn’t want you to worry,” he admits, he realises it sounds stupid saying it out loud but it doesn’t make it any less true. 

“I’d say we’ve both been worried sick, but Dumbledore didn’t see it fit to tell us about what happened until you woke up this afternoon,” Sirius says bitterly.

“It’s our job to worry,” Remus adds, coming to sit on the opposite side of the bed to Sirius. “We’re going to worry whether you tell us stuff or not, we’re never going to get mad at you for coming to us when there’s something wrong, you understand?”

Harry nods, leaning forward to hug Remus, who hugs him back a lot more tentatively than Sirius had and pulls away a lot faster. His guilt almost makes him start a conversation in the same vein as the one he’d had with Dumbledore just hours ago, but he can’t bring himself to talk about it again. He even considers telling them about Norbert, something that seems a lot less serious of an issue after his encounter with Voldemort but decides that that can wait for a later date. It’s over now, he’s okay, his friends are okay, his family are okay and that’s all that matters.

“Are those Chocolate Frogs? I haven’t had one in _years,”_ says Sirius, dismissing the dark atmosphere that had settled in the room in mere seconds. Plucking one of the pentagonal boxes from the pile of the table, Sirius unwraps it, catching the enchanted frog midair as it leaps out of the box. 

“What card did you get?” Harry asks eagerly, taking a cauldron cake from the pile as the hunger that had been absent since he woke up finally sets in.

“Agrippa,” Sirius answers through a mouthful of chocolate, taking the card out of the packaging, “I’m assuming you’ll want it, you did say you’re collecting them, right?”

“Yeah, Ron says that’s a really rare one,” Harry takes the offered card and watches Cornelius Arippa smile at him from the small window on the front.

Remus coughs purposefully to gain their attention and they look towards him. He moves from the end of the bed so he’s sat on the opposite side of Harry to Sirius.

“For now it’s enough that you’re okay, but we’re going to need to have a more serious discussion about this when we’re all back home,” he says and Harry gives him a nod of understanding. Only then does he hug him, Harry feels his eyes begin to get wet at the weight of it all. He buries his face in Remus’ shoulder and he feels Sirius place a comforting hand on his back. 

From that point on they talk about things that don’t really matter in the scheme of things; plans for the summer, professional Quidditch teams and whether or not any of them should risk eating a Bertie Botts Every Flavour Bean. It takes up until Remus and Sirius finally have to leave, promising him they’ll be waiting at Kings Cross when the Hogwarts Express arrives for Harry to decide to give the card to Ron instead of keeping it for himself. 

***

To the surprise of pretty much the whole school, Hufflepuff wins the house cup. Ron being in the hospital wing when they got rid of Norbert seems to have been a large contributing factor in this as it meant Hufflepuff were the only house to not lose a large amount of house points. Dumbledore does give out additional house points in regards to the Philosopher’s stone, but with the four of them each being in a different house it doesn’t really make a difference and Hufflepuff remains in the lead.

He catches sight of Ron, who looks practically ecstatic; then Hermione who looks a little disappointed but nevertheless happy for their friend; then Malfoy - who to Harry’s surprise is already looking at him. Malfoy rolls his eyes and makes a face before glaring pointedly at the Hufflepuff table, not that Harry had expected much else, Malfoy has made his opinion on Hufflepuff’s pretty clear, which really hasn’t helped in Harry’s attempts to get Ron to stop trying to punch him on the nose at every opportunity.

As a whole, the Slytherin’s are pretty disappointed; the first years as well as a large percentage of the rest of their house look positively distraught. Harry would be lying if he said he didn’t care  _ at all _ about winning the cup, however, he’s pretty sure Ron’s joy is enough to make up for it. George seems to agree, as he and Harry are the only ones on their table to applaud anywhere near enthusiastically when Dumbledore announces Hufflepuff as the winner. 

The feast is great but Harry can’t help but think about how much better it would be if he was sitting with his friends, he talks to George, Pansy and has a passing conversation with Flint and a couple other members of the Quidditch team but not really anyone else. The Slytherin’s aren’t completely however as even though it didn’t end up winning them the House Cup they did win the Quidditch Cup, something Harry takes great joy in having contributed to.

The next two weeks might be the best he’s had all school year. They spend a lot of time either in the school grounds, at Hagrid’s or trying to get away with sneaking into each other's common rooms, which isn’t actually that hard to get away with thanks to the twins' experience. 

Malfoy and Ron seem to be warming up to each other in their own way, which involves a lot less talking and a lot more wizards chess. It usually ends with Malfoy sulking because he can’t beat Ron, but Harry is of the opinion that any progress is progress. Surprisingly, Hermione and Malfoy seem to get along quite well as long as they’re talking about academics, Harry doesn’t believe for a second his prejudice has gone anywhere but he seems to be trying so that’s something.

They get their exam results back a few days after the feast. If it wasn’t for Hermione and Malfoy incessantly bringing them up Harry thinks he would have forgotten they were a thing at all. Unsurprisingly, Hermione comes top of the year and Malfoy follows at a close second, something Malfoy says doesn’t bother him but Harry thinks it’s pretty obvious he’s not too happy about it. He and Ron don’t do nearly as well, but they pass, which is enough for them. 

When it’s finally time to leave for Kings Cross Harry, Hermione, Ron, Pansy, Malfoy and the twins squeeze into one compartment. On one side of the compartment Fred and George sit on either side of Ron, occasionally ruffling his hair and saying various things to further irritate him, whilst simultaneously distracting him from the game of exploding snap he’s playing with Harry. To Harry’s right sits Hermione, who’s unsurprisingly got her nose buried in a rather large book Harry’s not completely convinced she didn’t sneak out of the library back at Grimmauld Place over Christmas. Then to his left sit Pansy and Malfoy, who have been practically inseparable since the end of year feast. They’re not talking quietly but they are talking in a completely different language Harry  _ thinks  _ is French, meaning he can’t understand a word of what they’re talking about, but he assumes that’s the point of them speaking in a different language in the first place. Judging by the way Malfoy keeps frowning and making various other faces he assumes it’s nothing good and decides to leave them to it.

Around an hour into the journey Lee Jordan joins them, squeezing in next to Fred. Listening to him animatedly complain about Professor McGonagall’s restrictions on his commentary of the Quidditch matches, Harry comes to the conclusion that, no matter what, Lee Jordan  _ always  _ sounds like he’s commentating something. 

After he’s bored of exploding snap he takes up looking out the window, one earphone in as he listens to Sirius’ mixtape on his Walkman. At the point that the rolling green hills and wild forests thick with trees begin to be interrupted by things such as winding roads and small villages Malfoy shoves a bony elbow into Harry’s side. He and Pansy had stopped talking in rapid French a while back, after the trolley witch reached their compartment and between he, Pansy and Malfoy they bought enough for their crowded compartment to have a sort of mini feast. 

“You will write over the summer, won’t you?” he asks after Harry turns to him sharply, fully prepared to ask him what his problem is. 

For a few seconds Harry just stares at him, taken aback by the unexpected question, “I mean, do you want me to?” 

“That would be why I asked, Potter. Merlin, you really are dim sometimes,” Malfoy replies. 

“Actually he’s dim a lot more often, you’re just not around to see it,” Pansy interjects and Harry tries his best to look offended even though he’s not that bothered. 

“I’m going to write to Ron and Hermione, so I don’t see why not,” he says, answering the original question. 

“I’d invite you to the Manor like I do Pansy, but for obvious reasons, that’s not exactly a good idea,” Malfoy says.

“What obvious reasons?” Harry asks. 

Malfoy scoffs. “If I need to tell you, you’re dumber than I thought,” then suddenly his demeanour changes, eyes flickering to the window and the quickly diminishing countryside, “anyway, I really must go.”

He gets up quickly, grabbing Pansy by the arm so she goes with him. 

“Where are you going, Malfoy?” Hermione asks, having been distracted from her book by the sudden movement. 

“As lovely as it’s been spending time with you all, I do actually have other friends, so for now I bid you farewell,” Harry rolls his eyes at the dramatic phrasing and catches Ron doing the same out of the corner of his eye. 

Before any of them can actually respond the two are gone and Harry stares at the compartment door blankly for a good minute. 

“Well, that was odd,” Fred says into the silence, “guess you can’t expect much else, he  _ is  _ a Malfoy after all.” 

“I dunno, I think he’s a different type of odd to the rest of those pureblood fanatics,” says George with a thoughtful look. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Ron sneers and Harry is careful not to point out that it’s a little too reminiscent of Malfoy. 

“Can you blame him with a git like Lucius Malfoy for a father?” Fred asks..

From what Harry knows of the Malfoys he understands Fred’s point entirely.

“Looks like we’ll be back at Kings Cross pretty soon,” says Lee and the conversation easily moves on to their plans for the summer. 

When they finally pull into platform nine and three-quarters Harry easily spots Remus and Sirius waiting for him like they said they would be. Next to them and very hard to miss due to the flaming red hair, stands Mr and Mrs Weasley, as well as Ron’s younger sister Ginny. They all begin waving with different levels of enthusiasm when they catch sight of them through the compartment window. 

When they get onto the platform, Ginny, similarly to how she had been when he’d first met her, seems very excited about his presence. Ron tells him to ignore it so he does, still completely baffled as to why exactly people get so excited by him existing-he ‘defeated’ Voldemort when he was barely a year old, it’s not like he did it on purpose or anything, and the most recent time hadn’t exactly been all that planned out. In fact, he’s not even sure that’s something the wizarding public is aware of.

As they’re about to go through the barrier, Harry catches the same white-blond hair he’s used to associating with Malfoy. Some people move out of the way and he realises it  _ is  _ Malfoy, except he’s with a man and a woman - both with the same pale skin and startlingly white hair - who can’t be anyone other than his parents. His mother’s features soften slightly whenever her gaze wonders to her son, but the same can’t be said for Mr Malfoy, who wears the same haughty expression Harry’s so used to seeing Malfoy sporting almost daily. It’s different though, despite being the exact same shade as Malfoy’s, his eyes contain something awful that makes chills run down his spine and he has to look away. His eyes land on Malfoy again, and for a just a second their gaze’s meet, Malfoy shooting him a quick smile before his mother begins to hurry him along, back into the crowds of students and parents. 

Harry isn’t aware he’s zoned out until Ron’s pulling on his sleeve and saying, “C’mon, it’s our turn to go through the barrier.” 

He turns back around to see that all the other Weasley’s have gone back through the barrier and it’s only him, Ron, Hermione, Remus and Sirius left. 

“You three go on,” Remus tells them, “Sirius and I will meet you on the other side.”

So they do, the three of them walking straight through the brick barrier. As soon as they walk into the gap between platforms nine and ten Harry feels odd, being back in the Muggle London, despite it being his home it feels strange after spending the year at Hogwarts. Hermione’s parents, who look rather overwhelmed by the whole situation, are waiting on the other side of the barrier. Hermione introduces them to the Weasleys, who they greet rather timidly, but Harry supposes he can’t blame them, having never knowingly met a witch or wizard before, let alone knowing of their existence until a year ago. However, they seem to relax when Sirius and Remus come through the barrier and insert themselves into the conversation, clearly more comfortable since they already know each other. 

This doesn’t last long though and soon enough everyone’s saying their goodbyes.

“Don’t forget you’re both welcome to come and stay over the summer whenever you like,” Mrs Weasley tells Harry and Hermione for what must be at least the tenth time. 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll get sick of him at some point and ship him off to you for a while,” Sirius jokes, then gets an elbow from Remus for it.

“You should all come for tea sometime,” Remus says, ignoring the glare he gets from Sirius, “Ron and Hermione are Secondary Secret Keepers now so they’ll be able to show you where it is.” 

“Oh, yes,” says Hermione excitedly, “I’d love to come spend some more time in the library.”

“Yes, because you wouldn’t come visit just to see your friend,” Ron says sarcastically.

Hermione glares, “Harry knows I wouldn’t come over just because of the library.”

“I think you’ve actually got some books you need to return to our library, Hermione,” Harry says jokily, eager to dissipate the tension and Hermione flushes instantly, gripping the book in her arms tightly. 

“I’d say you’re all welcome at ours.” Mr Granger begins, “but I doubt there’s anything very appealing about our non-magic house.” 

“Nonsense!” Mrs Weasley exclaims. “We’d love to come visit some time, wouldn’t we Arthur?” 

Mr Weasley agrees enthusiastically and Sirius and Remus reiterate the sentiment before the Granger’s press the point that they really must be going. 

“See you over the summer!” Hermione calls and Harry and Ron repeat her words back to her, grinning happily. 

When Hermione and her parents get too lost in the crowd to distinguish anymore, they turn back to see their own respective parents waiting for them. 

“Well, this is it mate,” Ron says, clapping him on the back, “I’ll see you when I see you.” 

“See you, Ron,” Harry says happily, waving as he, Remus and Sirius head for the exit and back to Remus’ brown Ford Escort. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap folks! At least for now anyway, I'm currently still working on the first draft of CoS and if I were to give an estimate I'd say it might take me around another month or so to get it done, all I'm gonna say for now is that it's called Nature's Nobility. Also, don't hold me to it, but I may or may not be planning to write a couple mini wolfstar oneshots set in this universe to bide the time. Thank you so much for reading, I really do hope you've enjoyed!!! If you want to keep updated I tend to shit post about stuff like that on my [twitter](https://twitter.com/c0ffee_gremlin).

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you want to find me elsewhere on the internet I use [tumblr](https://c0ffee-gremlin.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/c0ffee_gremlin), you can also find my art [here](https://white-carnati0ns.tumblr.com/).


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